Bad Education
by Silverweaver
Summary: Trey is often demonised, but Ryan went to help him in The Homecoming for a reason. [Complete, Edited & Re-posted]
1. Chapter One

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: Edited and re-posted August 9th 2004.

* * *

Even as he drove to the chop shop, Ryan knew that the evening was not going to end well. It was like the time he was nine and Trey took him swimming at the local community pool. Some guys who were giving Trey a hard time made a bet that Ryan would be too chicken to jump off the 5-meter board. So Ryan did it. He didn't want his brother to get laughed at. He could still remember the cold feeling in his chest as he climbed up the top ladder, determined not let his brother's tormentors see how scared he was by shaking. When he got to the top, he walked up and jumped, like it was nothing. Trey had been so proud of him, so pleased that his little brother had proved that the Atwoods were men, not mice. Ryan waited until all the other guys had left before climbing awkwardly out of the pool and examining the red mark down the back of his legs from where he'd hit the water flat on. It had taken the best part of two weeks for the bruise to fade, and even today it still made Ryan's cheeks prickle just to think of it. He hadn't had much of a head for heights since. Still, he had no intention of turning round.

Trey would have done the same for him. What Ryan understood, what he knew that Sandy didn't get was that Trey wasn't a bad person. Five months ago, the night Ryan and his brother were busted for stealing a car, Sandy had said Trey wasn't his concern; he'd stolen before, he smoked pot, he was carrying a gun and he'd led a brighter kid astray. That was all he needed to know. He had dismissed him as a lost cause. The other side of the story was that Trey knew that no matter how bright you were, life didn't play fair. Opportunities weren't readily available in Chino, you had to make them and take them. Trey and Ryan had grown up without a father figure and a mother who had priorities other than her children. Neither she, nor any of the men she sought comfort in had any money to spare. Rightly or wrongly, that night Trey had been teaching his brother a skill that might come in handy. And as for the pot, it was cheaper than going to the movies and a hell of a lot more fun. As much as he honored his Bronx roots, Sandy had not had to make the kind of decisions that the Atwood brothers had to in a long time. Ryan knew that in a twisted way, Trey and been looking out for him that night. Tonight was his chance to return the favor.

Ryan slowed down as he looked for the turn off. His heart was beginning to race and his mouth had never felt drier.

"It is a far, far better thing I do now," he muttered under his breath.

He wished he wasn't alone. He wished that Arturo were with him. Or Seth. Not that he'd be much good if things started to go as badly as he suspected they would and Ryan would have had to tape Seth's mouth shut when they actually arrived at their destination, but his incessant babbling was oddly comforting in times of crisis. Like when Luke had been shot and Seth had talked for an hour straight in a splurge of verbal diarrhea whilst they waited for news. Or only a few weeks later, when they waited in another hospital, for news on Marissa and Seth just about set a record for words per minute. He should be available on tape.

"Calm down with Cohen," Ryan smiled, as he turned the car round the corner and into the driveway of the chop shop.

He pulled up and turned off the engine, taking a moment to try and settle his nerves. It wasn't just the fact that he was violating probation, that was making Ryan jumpy, but the fact he was doing something so inherently against his nature by bringing the car to the garage for "re-modeling". It was a pity; this was a nice car and despite the circumstances, he couldn't help but enjoy driving it. Now it was going to be taken to pieces. Ryan very much hoped that the same wasn't going to happen to him, though given the look of disgust and the huge muscles on the guy walking towards him, he doubted it. Apparently Gattas was a serious fan of working out. Ryan tried to remember the basics of fighting, hoping that the rules still applied when your opponent was roughly the size of a small country. Punch with the thumb on the outside of the fist, if you go down, don't give anyone the chance to stomp on your fingers. Another lesson Trey had taught him and one that had proved invaluable after A.J. had moved in with Ryan and his mother. 

"You Ryan?" asked Gattas as he strolled towards the car, wiping his hands on a rag almost as oily as his hair. As Ryan nodded in response, he couldn't help but notice that the guy wasn't just sizing up the car. The cold feeling in his chest was getting worse.

"This is a hot ride, I tell you that. Hard to believe your brother could pull it off," Gattas chirped between smirks, "'Cause, uh, he's such a stupid son of a bitch." 

Ryan got out of the car, determined not to be fazed, "Yeah, well, what do you think?"

Gattas scuffed him on the shoulder as he answered, "What huh? What do I think about what?"

Seth probably wouldn't have been able to resist saying something goofy in response to his rhetorical question, but Ryan knew better. He was on a tightrope and someone had just taken down the safety net. Too little bravado, he knew, would make him an easy target and would result in a hiding; too much would result in another, only this time perhaps with added weight of a wrench behind it. Ryan tried to act like he had conversations like this everyday,

"Are we good? You take the car, Trey's off the hook," he replied, hoping the impatient tone coupled with the submissive question was the right way to go. Gattas smirked again and put his hands on his hips. Not a good sign.

"Oh, is that the deal?"

"It's what he told me."

"Huh. You fellas hear that?" said the chop shop guy, talking to someone over Ryan's shoulder. Ryan turned to look. Two guys, one bald, both ugly. And pretty much twice the size of him. Crap. They came up close behind Ryan, getting between him and the hot car. Exit strategy number one, out the window. Ryan turned his attention to considering exit strategy number two as the guy kept talking, "I've been waiting six months for this and there's something called interest."

"Hey, I don't have anything." Ryan shot back, hoping fervently that Marissa wasn't going to get the urge to call him to check on him in the next two minutes. He had a feeling Sandy's cell phone was going to come in very useful, very soon.

"Well, interest needs to be paid, alright?" snapped the guy, before delivering a punch to Ryan's face so vicious it snapped his head back and he staggered backwards into the chain link fence. He was almost relieved; the cards were on the table, he knew the score now. This was going to be one of the bad days. How bad depended how quick he could get in his retaliation. He cracked an elbow into the guy's face, like Trey had taught him once, going for the cheekbone where he could do fast damage, maybe give himself the opportunity to run. It achieved the desired effect, surprising even Ryan as he slipped round the side of his aggressor, heading down the driveway to the street where a three on one fight might at least get noticed, if not broken up. Years of practice dodging his mother's boyfriends meant that Ryan was fast; unfortunately, years of working dodgy deals and running from cops meant that these guys were faster.

"Get back here, you little punk!" shouted the bald guy as he sprinted after Ryan.

Ryan drove hard towards the gate, focused solely on his getaway, expecting the blow come at any second. When it finally did, the force of the crowbar connecting with his back nearly made him throw up; the blow bringing sharp pain to his back and knocking the breath out of him. He dropped instantly, falling to his knees and putting his hands out to save his face and remembered just in time to ball his fingers into a fist as the second heavy stamped on his left hand. The pain shot through Ryan's body with a dull thud. Instinctively, he pulled his arm into towards his chest in an effort to squash the pain out of his hand. He didn't think it was broken, but he'd been wrong before. Ryan sat up on his knees, trying to think and to catch his breath, still winded from the first blow. The bald man raised the crowbar again and Ryan had just enough time to raise his left arm to block the second, this time aimed at his head, crying out in pain as his felt it break. Feeling the urge to be sick, Ryan leant forward, curled in a ball, resting his head on the ground. A kick to his ribs from steel-capped boots flipped him on to his back and the bolt of electric white-hot pain made spots dance before his eyes.

When they cleared, Gattas was standing over him, nursing his cheek and holding a gun. He pressed it to Ryan's forehead.

"Tell your brother, when he gets out, he better watch out, okay?"

"Okay," Ryan whispered hoarsely back. Being given a message was good; it meant he was going to keep his teeth. He let out a shaky breath, too relieved that the confrontation was over to care about showing it.

The guy stood up, "Thanks for the car," he smirked before whipping the pistol hard and fast into Ryan's nose.

The taste of blood in his mouth was oddly comforting; familiar, and proof that he was going to get to fight another day. Ryan smiled wearily to himself; too tired to dodge as the steel capped boot aimed for his temple connected and took him inevitably into quiet darkness.


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: Thank you for all the reviews so far, I appreciate it.

* * *

The sun was beginning to set as Arturo walked the last couple of blocks to the garage and with each step, he felt more and more like the world's worst friend. He knew he shouldn't have let Ryan take the car alone, if at all. He was a good kid, smart and considerate. He had that knack of being able to walk the fuzzy line between being popular with both guys and girls and somehow he managed to get on with kids his own age and adults. Of course, there were people who didn't like Ryan much; generally they were sleeping with his mother, but the men who chose to express it through violence generally didn't do so more than once. Ryan had his mother's temper and just enough muscle to back it up when his short fuse blew. Ryan usually came off worst, but well enough to make it clear that a second round was not worth the effort. Until A.J. came along, who was just huge.

Like the rest of his family, Arturo never understood why Dawn was attracted to someone like that; perhaps she thought he would protect her from the world and maybe he could be a good man, when it suited him. Unfortunately, for Trey and Ryan, A.J. wasn't big on sharing. Being a few years older and out of school, Trey had a few options. So, even if some of them weren't technically legal, after all this was Chino, Trey had done the smart thing and got himself out of the house as soon as he could. Ryan had stayed. Most of the time, A.J. tolerated him; those times he didn't Ryan could often be found in temporary residence on Arturo's couch. Eva liked him, Theresa would have been more than happy to have let him buddy up in her room and Arturo always welcomed the chance to have the house gender lines evened up, even if only for a short while. It usually only took a few days for Dawn to talk A.J round and Ryan then always went back, without question. Over the last few months before he and Trey had gotten themselves arrested, Ryan's stays had become longer and more frequent and Arturo had begun to miss having him around. He'd have laid money down that Eva and Theresa felt the same. Arturo knew if anything had happened to Ryan, Theresa was going to kill him. He quickened his pace.

* * *

Seth tried not to look too relieved as he waved his to grandfather's car as it pulled out of the Cohen's drive way and began its twisting ascent towards the other end of town. He let out a deep breath and cast his eyes skyward.

"Thank you, God. If I live to be a hundred, I will never overeat at Thanksgiving again."

"Public humiliation, fantastic awkwardness, parental debauchery and marital breakdown. Who says you guys don't know how to celebrate a holiday?"

Seth turned round to see Jimmy Cooper standing in the doorway with an inane grin on his face. He returned the grin,

"I like to think that it was in true spirit of the forefathers first meal together. A beautiful melding of disparate cultures; all hating each other in their own special way." Seth walked back up the drive to meet him and leaned against one of the pillars, letting out a disgruntled sigh,

"Sorry tonight sucked."

"Coulda been worse. At least the Dolphins kicked ass." Jimmy smiled gently at Seth, picking up on the kid's concealed low mood. Seth returned the briefest of smiles in acknowledgement, feeling the onus of the evening's forced cheerfulness beginning to catch up with him.

"And the company didn't suck," Rachel chirped as she joined them, juggling a few cartons of Chinese food as slipped on her jacket. "Do you mind?" she asked Seth, indicating the greasy white boxes, "I have this thing about noodles for breakfast."

"Hey, me too." said Jimmy, in a mixture of surprise and admiration.

"Go right ahead," said Seth, wrinkling his nose, "Although you should probably talk to someone about that, it's not healthy."

"And juggling two girls is?" said Rachel with a wry smile.

"I see your logic and admire it."

"Pick one. They'll come back."

"How do you know?"

"You have your father's charm," said Rachel sincerely to Seth. He looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "But fortunately not his eyebrows," she continued, sensing Seth's mood, "Let's hope they die with him, hey?"

"Amen to that," Jimmy agreed before turning to Rachel, "We should make a move. Do you need a ride?"

"No thanks, I have my car. "

"That's a relief, mine's been repossessed."

"You want a ride?"

"Well, since you offer."

"Smooth. Very smooth," said Rachel, amused. She nodded her head over to where her car was parked on the edge of the driveway, "Come on. I'll drop you off."

"Thanks."

"Nice meeting you, Seth," she said as she made her way down to her car.

"You too," he replied.

"'Night, kid," said Jimmy as started after her, "Thank your parents for us, will you?" Seth nodded in response,

"No problem."

Jimmy stopped and turned round as Rachel got in the car, "And, hey, if Marissa calls, tell her she's grounded."

"Will do."

Seth watched as Jimmy slid into the passenger side and shut the door. He waited until the car was out of sight before standing up straight and headed into the house, letting out a quiet sigh as the telephone began to ring.

* * *

After four rings, Ryan lost his nerve and hung up. After a moment's thought, he turned off the phone. He didn't want anybody calling to check up on him just yet. He'd think about it again once the dull throbbing in his head and the constant twist of razor sharp pain pulsing through his arm had subsided. If it wasn't for the fact that he felt sick, he have been pleasantly surprised; he'd gotten off more lightly than he'd previously suspected. His ribs were sore and he was wheezing slightly, but not painfully, so he knew they weren't broken. His arm definitely was. In the short time Ryan'd been out, it had swelled to twice normal size and there was an ugly bruise emerging just down from his elbow where it had taken the full force of the crowbar. After coming to, he'd momentarily forgotten and sat up, unthinkingly putting his hands down as he tried to get to his feet, an error of judgement only marginally less idiotic then agreeing to drop the car off in the first place. When Ryan came to for the second time, he didn't repeat his mistake. Now he was sitting with his back against the garage's chain link fence, trying to ignore the pain and cold sweaty feeling in his body whilst he considered his next move. His back was soaked through, his chest was a little too tight comfort and his nausea was increasing with each passing minute. He should really call the Cohens.

Sandy was going to kill him. Kirsten would be disappointed. Caleb was going to gloat. And as for Julie, the Überbitch of Newport, she was probably going to ban him from seeing Marissa ever again. Of course technically, she'd done that before, pretty much every time she'd seen Ryan within talon distance of her daughter, but this time she'd have physical proof that the boy from Chino was a hooligan. On the other hand, the issue of him and Marissa was almost certainly redundant given the course of events at Theresa's house and the fact that he'd snapped at her for lying to him about being allowed to come along to Chino.

Fair enough, Ryan was fully aware that he'd told her to take the Cohen's car back to Newport, without arguing, but he didn't really expect her just to go off sulking like she had. Even when the guys at the garage were laying into him, he'd half- hoped, half-expected even for Marissa to show up. But deep down, Ryan knew Marissa was just a little too proud, a little too self-centered even, to stick around after he'd chided her. He was angry with her for not caring enough to go to his rescue like he'd gone to hers in Mexico and angry with himself for being so bothered by it. Ryan wasn't stupid, he wasn't naive. He recognized that much of Marissa's attraction to him was based on the fact that her mother considered him to be so far from the right side of the tracks that she couldn't even see them. Unfortunately, Ryan was also an optimist. He couldn't help it; he just had an irrepressible tendency to look on the bright side of life, to see the goodness in people, even when he shouldn't. Perhaps the Atwood propensity to be attracted to people no good for them was genetic.

Ryan smiled in spite of himself, "That would be just perfect."

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, Atwood." Ryan looked up, relieved to see the voice belonged to Arturo. He watched his friend's face blanch as he processed the sight of Ryan's twisted arm and bloodied face, "You look awful, man."

"Come to kick me when I'm down?"

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, so were they." Ryan closed his eyes and leant back against the fence. The dizzy feeling was getting worse. Arturo came and knelt down beside him. "What did they use?"

"Crowbar," said Ryan with trademark stoicism.

Arturo winced involuntarily at the thought of it, "Your girl gone for help?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean? Where is she?" Arturo asked as he gently pushed Ryan's matted hair back to examine the cut on his friend's head.

"Newport, I hope," Ryan winced as Arturo's fingers caught in a tangle of his hair, "Marissa left, just after we left you."

" So you've just been sitting here alone?" Arturo questioned, sharply.

"I'm okay."

"Yeah, you look fantastic. Deformity's a good look for you." Arturo sighed. Spying Sandy's cell phone lying next to Ryan he picked it up and switched it back on. "It's working," he said, surprised, "Why didn't you call me?"

"Theresa would have killed you."

"I can handle Theresa."

"No one should have to," said Ryan, trying to lighten the mood, but Arturo didn't smile.

"What about the guys you live with now?" he asked.

"I was going to, I did, but..." Ryan trailed off. He couldn't even rationalize to himself why he didn't want to involve the Cohens, let alone to someone else. Arturo was unimpressed.

"But what? Ryan, they're like family, right?"

"I guess."

"So, I'm sure they're going to want to know you're okay," Ryan gave him a look. "Or, in this case, you know, not."

"It's complicated," sighed Ryan.

"I'm going to make it simple. What's the number?

"Don't call them," Ryan said, wishing harder with each passing moment that this was not his life.

"Take a look at yourself, man. You've got to go get yourself checked out. Might as well be somewhere half decent."

Ryan closed his eyes. The dizzy feeling hadn't passed and he was beginning to feel more and more tired.

"Ryan?" The sound of Arturo's concerned voice made him focus. He made a decision. "Take me to General. We'll call them from there."

Arturo looked less than convinced at Ryan's suggestion. Unfortunately, he knew that the Atwoods were born stubborn. He sighed, "Promise?"

"Promise." Ryan replied. Seemingly satisfied, Arturo slipped the cell phone in his pocket.

"Come on, let's get you up." Arturo took hold of Ryan's good arm as he awkwardly got his feet under him.

"Slowly does it, okay?"

"No arguments here," replied Ryan, grimacing as the pain in his arm kicked up a notch. Arturo put his hand on his back to help him up, then suddenly withdrew it with an utterance of surprise, his hand slick with red.

"Christ," he muttered, his face a mixture of fear and concern. Ryan looked at his friend in surprise as he realized that the source of the bleeding must be him. He been so aware of the pain in his arm, he hadn't even considered that the clammy feeling down his back might be actually be blood. Now he understood, he felt sick and suddenly weak, as he let Arturo lean him gently forward to investigate the source.

"Is it bad?" he asked, already suspecting the answer but still hoping for a different one.

"Bad enough." Arturo carefully let Ryan lean back against the fence before retrieving the cell phone from his pocket. Ryan's head was swimming, but he still felt the need to protest.

"Don't call Theresa,"

"I won't." Ryan sighed and closed his eyes, glad that Arturo was here, relieved to have the decision about what to do next taken out of his hands. He was finding it hard to think straight and waves of tiredness were washing over him in a rhythm as constant as the pain pulsating though his body. The world and everything in it seemed suddenly very far away. By the time his friend had called for the ambulance, Ryan had blacked out.


	3. Chapter Three

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: This chapter is distinctly more cheerful. Well, fairly. Who knew I was a closet Ryan basher?

* * *

Seth hummed to himself as he used an ice pick to attack the remains of cremated turkey that still clung stubbornly to the bottom of the pan.

"You're dirty sweet and you're my girl," sang Sandy, joining in with his son as he entered the kitchen. Seth stopped singing. He wasn't really in the mood for company, and could feel his frustration growing with each stab at the blackened char encrusted on the pan.

"Did I ever tell you I saw T-Rex play live?" Sandy said, recognizing Seth's mood and deciding not to let him mope.

"You did?" said Seth, rinsing the pan again. The progress was virtually zilch

"Uh-huh. Me and your mom, on one of our first dates. That was a great night out. And a great night in," he added, his twinkling eyes complemented by a flick of his Muppet-like eyebrows.

"Dad, must you share? Despite keeping Mom away from the food, we still ended up eating Chinese on Thanksgiving, Ryan went AWOL, Marissa's mom tragically didn't, Anna and Summer hate me and I've cleared up a mysterious pile of vomit from my bedroom, which I think was once a margarita. I don't think I can cope with all that and the revelation that you and Mom were once horny Children of the Revolution in the same night."

Seth sighed and turned off the faucet, letting the turkey pan drop with a clang in the sink, "Maybe Ryan's family has the right idea; maybe I invest too much in festivities." He pushed himself up on to the counter top and rubbed his eyes wearily.

Sandy moved to the sink and began to fill the bowl up with hot water. "What about Chrismukkah? You're not about to cancel the world's best fictitious holiday, are you?" asked Sandy, adding a squirt of detergent to the bowl and creating a mountain of bubbles.

"Well, Chrismukkah's the exception that proves the rule, obviously."

"Obviously."

Seth remained quiet. He didn't really feel like talking; joking aside, this had been a crappy day. Admittedly, he had got to spend a lot of it making out with two fantastic girls, both of whom oddly had managed to see past the weird hair and his gangly arms to find something in his bumbling verbosity that delighted them. It had lasted just one afternoon. Four hours. Beyond ridiculous.

"It'll be okay, you know," said Sandy, interrupting his son's thoughts. "It may not seem like it now, but things will work themselves out."

"Dad, let me ask you something."

"Sure."

"Did you ever go out with two women at once and get found out?"

"Yes I did."

"And did it end well?"

"Not particularly, no."

"Did they exact bitter revenge?"

"Possibly."

"And did either of them ever go out with you ever again?"

"Alas, no."

"Then how can you conceivably say to me that things will work themselves out?"

"I'm an optimist," Sandy smiled gently at his son, "We're a dying breed."

"Guess so."

Sandy swilled the last of the burnt crust of turkey out of the pan and into the garbage disposal. "Ta-da. See, I don't even give up on dirt."

"You're an example to us all, Dad," said Seth, hitching off the counter, "I'm going to bed."

"Go talk to your mother first. She's feeling pretty sorry for herself right about now."

"And you want me to cheer her up? Did you not just hear myself self- indulgent rant?"

"There's always someone worse off than yourself," said Sandy, handing Seth a bottle of water from the refrigerator and two paracetamol, "Go give her these."

"Fine," said Seth petulantly, taking them, "But if she starts reminiscing about your Glam Rock days, I'm out of there."

"Goodnight, Seth."

Sandy watched as Seth disappeared out of the kitchen, shuffling his feet all the way. He hoped that his son's amorous misadventures of the day wouldn't re-ostracize him at school, just when he was starting to not loathe it. He'd be okay. Ryan would always look out for him and as long as Seth had good friend in him, Sandy knew that he needn't worry. He checked his watch; it was nearly half nine and Ryan had said he would be back by eight. He hoped he was just stuck in traffic; but Sandy had a gnawing feeling in the pit of stomach and it was growing steadily worse. He checked his watch again. Ten minutes; then he'd call.

* * *

Ryan lay on his side, watching as the blood from his I.V. ran out of the bag suspended on the pole next to him, down through a tube and into a needle in the inside of his elbow. Each tiny red bead seemed to be moving amazingly slowly and Ryan was trying to work out if he could feel the actual moment it entered his bloodstream.

"Plip, plip," he mumbled to himself, smiling.

He felt good. Actually, he felt pretty damn fantastic. This, he was aware, was odd. Right now, he should feeling pretty crappy; in addition to the blood bag on his I.V. there were a further two less interesting bags of clear liquid, he had a medical student who didn't look old enough to shave finishing stitching the wound in his back, his left arm was swollen and splinted and curiously sausage like. He was very very aware of his teeth. They seemed uncannily huge in his mouth, usually a peculiarly individual indicator that he was drunk. As the greasy fog he was seeing the world through began to clear, Ryan realized that it was because his face was bruised and puffed up, in a manner largely reminiscent of a pumpkin. He couldn't breathe through his nose, which didn't particularly matter at this moment, due to the oxygen flowing in through the mask that rested lightly on his face. Any other time, he would most likely be embarrassed, right now, not so much. This, Ryan concluded, was probably not unconnected to the fact that he was completely spaced out on morphine. Beautiful, giddy, morphine. In fact, if whoever was whistling would just shut up, he would consider himself to be blissfully content.

"All done," said the med. student as he placed a dressing over the neat row of stitches before gently helping Ryan roll on to his back. Ryan sighed sleepily as he closed his eyes. That whistling was really beginning to get on his nerves and by the look of the furrowed brow of the student, he wasn't the only one. The oxygen mask was beginning to tickle his nose, so he made a clumsy move to take it off, but the student stayed his hand. "Not so fast, kid. You still sound like a tea kettle." He took his stethoscope from around his neck and warmed it up on his hands before listening to Ryan's chest.

"When's the last time he had an asthma attack?" asked the student, turning to someone just out of Ryan's field of vision.

"Not since he was a little kid; he grew out of it years ago," Ryan heard Arturo's say as his voice floated across the room. "Hardly had it, never had it bad, just when his mom- " Ryan heard Arturo stop and registered the restraint in his voice as his friend cleared his throat. "Just got a little whistley sometimes."

Ryan was grateful for Arturo's discretion; he really didn't want to go into a detailed discussion of his family history right now. There would be time enough for that when he called the Cohens and Ryan fervently hoped that there would be morphine going all round when it was time for that particular conversation.

The student put his stethoscope back around his neck and turned to Arturo, "It's probably just the stress. I'm going to give him another treatment to be sure." He turned back to Ryan, with a cheerful tone that matched his exaggerated smile, "And now I'm going to see if those x-rays are back and we can get that arm fixed. How does a turquoise cast sound? It's what all the cool kids are wearing these days."

"He likes yellow," said Arturo, a little too quickly, watching as the student's face flickered with concern. Arturo shrugged, the kid may be young but he wasn't stupid. "He always went for yellow." The student nodded in understanding at the uneasy young man.

"Yellow it is."

Ryan was beginning to drift off again, but he felt the need to correct Arturo. "Orange," he said, his voice muffled by the still tickling oxygen mask.

"What?" said Arturo, as he stood up and moved towards Ryan. He still couldn't get over how small the kid looked.

"Not yellow, orange," Ryan said, between soft wheezy breaths. He smiled weakly at Arturo, "Time for a change."

"Orange. Sounds good," said the student as he headed for the door, "A nurse'll be in with you before long and I'll be back later. Try to sleep, Ryan."

Ryan didn't think that sleep would be a problem; he was so tired he could only manage a grunt in response. Satisfied, the medical student left the two friends alone. Arturo pulled up the chair next to his Ryan's bed and sat down. He regarded the sleepy figure critically.

"So, I filled my end of the bargain, Ryan. I didn't call Theresa. Now it's your turn. You gotta return the favor."

Ryan wasn't sure he liked the sound of this. He'd already fulfilled one favor tonight and that hadn't turned out spectacularly well. He tried to look extra sleepy.

"Hey, don't try playing possum on me man, this is important." Ryan turned his head to Arturo, scowling at him. Arturo took Sandy's cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open.

"The Cohen's number," Ryan looked as though he was about to protest, but Arturo swiftly rebuked him, "And don't even think about not giving it to me, or I go fetch back Doogie and tell him you want the latest in hot pink casts." Ryan smiled in spite of himself. He took the phone clumsily from Arturo and hit the speed dial before handing it back.

"Ask for Sandy," said Ryan as he closed his eyes; he very much wanted to be asleep when Sandy asked to speak to him- Arturo was a terrible liar.

* * *

Kirsten couldn't work out if it was the phone that was ringing or just her painfully throbbing head as she leant over the toilet, waiting for the dry-heaves to finish. It never ceased to amaze her how she managed to forget how fantastically revolting throwing up was, whether it was on the rare occasions she got sick, or as in this case, entirely self-inflicted. That said, the act of having to spent tonight's debacle sober would have been even worse. She waited for a minute, trying to regain her composure before going back to bed. Kirsten was by no means an alcoholic, but she had buttons and tonight various members of her family had systemically pushed every one of them. In fact, the very thought of Julie and Caleb was enough to bring the dry-heaves back, and the way that Sandy just let it all wash over him seemingly without a care in the world sometimes grab that surfboard of his and shove it right-

"Mom? You okay in there, or you still spewing?" Seth's voice floated through the bathroom door from the bedroom, interrupting her thoughts.

"Mom?" Seth didn't sound too worried as he knocked lightly on the door, "Dad says if you don't come out in two minutes then I'm to break the door in, and you know Ryan's the burly one. Plus, you know there are some things a kid shouldn't have to see and that definitely includes his vomming mother. Especially as I'm very sensitive to these things; I don't think I need to remind you of that time in C.V.S. and the case of the amazing projectile banana."

"Seth!" exclaimed Kirsten, interrupting her son's ramblings.

"Yeah?" he replied, half-knowing her response.

"Please shut up, honey." Kirsten got to her feet and flushed the toilet before taking a look at herself in the mirror. Grey, sweaty and slightly blurry round the edges. Excellent. She'd definitely looked better. She splashed her face with water and opened up the bathroom door to find Seth sitting on her bed, a glass of water in one hand and a pair of pills in the other. He proffered them both to her now with only the smallest of smiles as she made her way across the room to join him. Kirsten took them gratefully and then sat down on the bed beside her son.

"So, what have we learned from this evening's adventures, Mom?" asked Seth mischievously.

"Never to open the door without the chain on?"

"Well, obviously. Anything else?"

"Never try and match make Dolphin and Cowboy fans?"

"That too. And?"

"Never get drunk when your kids are around to make fun of you."

"Exactly. I think that just about covers it." Kirsten smiled wearily at Seth as he pulled her into a gentle hug. Sometimes she had to remind herself he was only sixteen. Tonight, as he did so often, he seemed much older; sadder and wiser than his years.

"I got one for you," Seth and Kirsten looked up to see Sandy standing in the doorway, worry lines written across his furrowed brow, the phone dangling idly in his hand. "How about never let your kids go alone to see their incarcerated brothers on Thanksgiving?"

"What's wrong, Dad?" asked Seth, picking up on his Dad's concern.

"Ryan," Sandy sighed, trying to work out how to phrase his news as non-alarmingly as possible.

"What about him?" asked Kirsten, suddenly more alert as she registered her husband's troubled expression.

He decided to opt for honesty, "He's in the hospital. In Chino."

"What?!" Kirsten exclaimed, standing up with an air of authority that belied her churning stomach and pounding head.

"You're kidding, right, Dad? " said Seth, following suit. Sandy looked down, unwilling to meet his son's questioning eyes, "Dad? You're not serious?"

Sandy sighed, "Afraid so," he said, looking up finally, "Ryan's friend Arturo just called; said Ryan got in some kind of fight with some guys Trey knows. They worked him over pretty good." He forced himself not to look at his family instead of the more comforting floor, sickened by his own words, "They used a crowbar." He looked over at Kirsten, feeling curiously almost too ashamed to meet her gaze.

Seth half-laughed in disbelief and disgust, breaking the silence. "That's, oh my God, that's just... Is he okay?" he trailed off, feeling stupid, "Yeah, cause that's not the dumbest question of our times." Seth shook his head, unable to think straight.

"Sandy?" asked Kirsten gently, bringing her husband out of his daze, "Is Ryan okay?"

"Well, it seems he's going to be. They gave him a good going over; broke his arm pretty bad, but it sounds like considering the circumstances, he got off light."

"Did you talk to him?"

"He was asleep. I'm going to head down there now, you guys should get some sleep, join me in the morning."

"I think emphatically not, Dad," said Seth heading for the door, "I'll just get my jacket, then we'll motor."

"This is not a discussion, Seth," said Sandy, blocking his way, "You're going to stay with your mother. You can come down in the morning, bring some of Ryan's things with you."

"Why not now?"

"Because I say so," Sandy decreed.

Seth made as if to speak, but Kirsten cut him off, "Seth, you're father's right. It's best if your Dad goes now, and we'll follow on." Seth shook his head, tight-lipped. He couldn't believe this.

"I'll call you when I've seen him, okay buddy?" offered Sandy.

"Yeah, whatever," said Seth, more petulantly than he intended, but still feeling no inclination to apologize. Sandy pulled his son into a hug, squeezing him tight, trying to convince himself that he was not afraid of the world his children were growing up in.

"I love you, you know that?" he said, kissing Seth's forehead, before reaching up to tame a particularly wayward curl. Kirsten came to join them and Sandy broke away from Seth to give her a goodbye kiss on the cheek. "It'll be fine. I'll see you soon." Sandy left his family and they heard his hurried footsteps echo through the hall and the front door close behind him a moment later. Kirsten laid a comforting hand on Seth's shoulder.

"Go call a cab, I'll get dressed." Seth turned to look at his mother, surprised. "Fifteen minutes' headstart ought to be enough, don't you think?" she said, her eyes sparkling with sudden determination in stark contrast to only a few minutes early in the bathroom. Seth's face lit up and he pulled her into a hug, "Best mom ever," he said, before breaking away and hurrying out to leave Kirsten alone in the bedroom once more, with only her growing feelings of guilt to trouble her.

* * *

Chapter Four will follow more swiftly than Chapter Three. After all, thanks to Channel 4, I no longer have the real O.C. to distract me, dammit!


	4. Chapter Four

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: Buckle up kids, the chapters are getting longer.

* * *

Arturo finished copying the number of Ryan's cell phone on to the back of his hand before slipping the phone gently into his sleeping friend's hand. It had only been a few hours since they'd come in to the hospital, but even to Arturo's untrained eye, he could tell that Ryan was doing much better. Some of the color had come back into his cheeks and the unhealthy whistle of his breathing had gradually slipped into the sounds of a deep and peaceful sleep. Of course, he still looked like hell, but Arturo finally felt like it was time to respect his friend's request and leave before the Cohens arrived. He reluctantly stood up and headed for the door. Arturo knew that Ryan had asked him to be gone to avoid a confrontation with his foster family and to keep Arturo and his family out of trouble, but that didn't mean he had to like it. That was Ryan through and through; always looking out for others, even when he really needed to focus in on himself. A classic case of white knight syndrome if ever there was one. God help the person who mistook it for doormat syndrome. As he reached for the door, Arturo heard Ryan stir and turned to see him shifting in his sleep. He waited for a moment, watching Ryan settle once more before crossing the room back to his friend's side. Without exactly knowing why, he leant down and kissed his friend on the forehead.

"Take care of yourself Ryan," he whispered, gently smoothing the matted hair of the kid he thought of as his little brother before turning away and leaving him alone to dream.

After he heard the door close, Ryan counted to twenty before opening his eyes. He felt bad for pretending to sleep instead of saying goodbye properly and expressing the thanks that Arturo deserved, but Ryan knew it was the only way he was going get him to go. Next to Theresa, Sandy Cohen had one of the fieriest tempers Ryan had ever encountered. Unlike his mother's, which could be equally furious, Theresa and Sandy's fire came from a place of concern and Arturo was already going to have to extinguish Theresa's when he went home. It wouldn't be fair to subject him to both her and a disgruntled foster parent on the same day; making sure his friend was out of the way before Sandy and his eyebrows arrived on the scene was the least that Ryan could do.

Although it still ached, Ryan's head felt clearer than it had done all afternoon and he took a proper look around the room for the first time. He was alone in the dingy room, although there was another bed in the other corner. Curtains that looked like they had been rejected by the Von Trapp family hung around his bed and a cracked clock on the wall told Ryan it was just before quarter past ten. Sandy should be here soon and despite the fact that he knew there would be stern words and sympathy, neither of which Ryan was particularly looking forward to, still he glad he was coming. It had been one hell of a long day. Having assessed his surroundings, Ryan turned his attention to himself.

He was glad to see that there was no longer a blood bag hanging from the I.V. stand by his bed, and only one bag of clear liquid remained, but as he became increasingly aware of the throbbing in his head, the soreness in his ribs and the pain in his back and arm, he realized with slight disappointment that the morphine had worn off. Then again, if he wasn't been kept on heavy painkillers, that might mean that he'd be allowed to go home soon, maybe even tomorrow. On second thoughts, Ryan re-considered as he took at look at his left arm, this might be a little optimistic. It was encased in a vivid orange cast from just above his elbow, all the way down to his hand, where it also immobilized his thumb, although thankfully none of his fingers. He must have broken his hand after all. This was going to be a real pain in the ass. Finally, Ryan reached his good hand up and removed the bothersome oxygen mask from his face, casting it clumsily aside on his pillow. He gingerly felt his puffy and sore nose; it was as if a spaceship had landed on his face and released a crew of tiny aliens for a tap-dancing convention. His nose hadn't been nobble free in a long time, but he'd always hoped the bumpy look was endearing and he hoped very much he hadn't segued into the inbred look. Still, even that would be better than the freakishly too straight look that so many of Newport's citizens had opted for. Ryan could not understand why anyone in their right mind would actually pay anybody to have their nose broken.

Then again, there were a lot of things about Newport that didn't make much sense to Ryan. He knew he didn't really belong there and as kind and welcoming as the Cohens had been to him, he didn't think he ever truly would. Yet this afternoon, it had only taken a few minutes driving through Chino for Ryan to recognize that he didn't really belong there any more either. Somehow in the past few months he'd turned into Shirley Valentine; existing in two worlds, and living in neither. His brain ached. Ryan closed his eyes, trying to settle back into sleep. Sandy would be here soon and something told Ryan that he wasn't going to be as easily fooled as Arturo.

* * *

"This is just ridiculous," said Seth frustratedly as the taxi slowed down for yet another set of lights, "You wouldn't think it was statistically possible for one cab to be stopped at every set of lights in a sixty minute journey, but no! Here we are, grinding to another halt. At this rate, Ryan's going to be discharged from the hospital before we even get there." Seth sighed and leaned his head back against the headrest.

"He's going to be fine, you know, honey," said Kirsten as she laid a comforting hand on her son's knee. Seth turned to look at her, his eyes full of skepticism, as she continued, "I know it seems scary right now, but everything will be okay, you'll see."

"Mom, some guys attacked him with a crowbar. I know I said Ryan's the burly one, but that's gotta hurt. "

"I don't doubt it," said Kirsten, trying not to think about how much, "But Ryan's tough; once we get him home, he'll be back on his feet in no time."

"Yeah, 'cause having the crap kicked out of you is nothing that a good platitude can't cure."

"Hey!" snapped Kirsten angrily, "Do you think I'm not worried? For your information, I have a thousand and one scenarios running through my head about how Ryan might be, all of them hideous. I am trying to stay positive here, because I don't really want to think about what exactly happened to Ryan this evening when I was drinking margaritas, you were making out with two girls at once- which, by the way, is not how we brought you up to behave- and your father was complaining about the turkey. So, it's true, platitudes may not help feel Ryan any better, but right now they sure as hell help me, so just be quiet and let me get on with it." Kirsten sighed as she finished her tirade before lapsing into silence. After a moment, Seth stopped looking at his hands and looked up awkwardly at his mother.

"Sorry Mom," he said sheepishly, "You know how I like to embrace my inner cretin."

"Yes, well sometimes, I just wish you'd think a bit more before you spoke." Her denunciation over, Kirsten relaxed a little and offered Seth a small smile, "But I know these things can be a bit of challenge when you've got pressing things on your mind- like say, juggling two girls on Thanksgiving." She shook her head at her son, "Honestly, Seth, those poor girls. What were you thinking?!"

"Uh, yay me?!" Seth replied. Kirsten rolled her eyes in amused disbelief, as he continued, "I mean, come on Mom; have you seen Summer and Anna? They're incredible. And for some reason my inner cretin does it for them. How could I possibly choose?"

"I think that's what's known as growing up, kid."

"Well, I'm only sixteen. I've got time."

"Gosh, that's a relief."

"And I've got my wise old ma to guide my way. That is, if you're not too busy downing tequila." Seth smiled cheekily at Kirsten, who smiled back good-naturedly. He looked out the window as the taxi successfully made it though its first intersection without having to stop for a red light.

"Hey, look, we made it through," Seth said optimistically, "Shouldn't be too long now."

Kirsten's brow furrowed again. Seth reached out for her hand and took it in his own, squeezing it reassuringly. "You're right, Ryan'll be fine," he said, "After all, the guy can do one-armed pull-ups, what have we got to worry about?"

"Really? He can do that?"

"Yeah, it's actually very annoying. Girls just aren't as impressed by guys who can do the box splits."

"You know what, I always found it a little weird that you can do that. It's not even as though you did gymnastics."

"What can I say? I'm bendy." Seth squeezed his mother's hand again, in an attempt to offer some small semblance of comfort.

"He will be okay, won't he." Kirsten said, trying to make a statement, but still seeking reassurance.

"Absolutely," answered Seth resolutely, "Besides, now he's got us."

* * *

Ryan awoke with a start, making the med. student jump in surprise and drop his stethoscope. "Good grief!" he said, bending down to retrieve it, "You scared me."

"Sorry," said Ryan automatically. He looked at the clock on the wall; half ten. Sandy should be here any time now.

"Hey, no need to apologize," said the student as he made a note on Ryan's chart, "Traditionally, it's when my patients don't wake up that there's a problem. Besides, I have a jumpy nature; one of the side-effects of mainlining caffeine."

Ryan laughed in spite of himself, grimacing as his ribs ached and his breath caught slightly in his throat. The student frowned at him, noting the mask cast aside on Ryan's pillow, which still hissed as it released oxygen into the air. "You know," he said adjusted Ryan's unflattering gown slightly to listen to his chest, "the point of the mask is to help you breathe, not aerate your pillow."

"I feel stupid."

"Yeah, well, it's not a fashion accessory," said the student, listening intently.

"I'm fine," said Ryan trying to sound as healthy and upbeat as possible.

"Of course you're not," the med. student said kindly, his face screwed in concentration. "But you will be. Okay, deep breath in. And out." Ryan complied as he continued, "A few days sleep and a few weeks taking it easy and you'll be back to your old radiant self again; sparkling as I'm sure that is. And again." Ryan was less than a hundred percent convinced with this last statement, but he kept quiet. The student regarded him critically, "Alright, you can have your dignity back," he said, shutting off the oxygen valve and tidying the mask away somewhere behind Ryan's head. "Although to be honest, if I were you I'd be a little more concerned about what's going on under the blankets. There's a reason you don't need to pee you know."

This was a little more than Ryan needed to know, "I think I'm going to take your word for it."

"Very wise. But Ryan, you need to start taking better care of yourself. Playing the hero is going to get you in serious trouble one of these days." Ryan looked down, really not wanting to have this conversation with someone he didn't even know. Unfortunately for him, the med. student was determined to play counselor. "You know what I'm talking about. Follow my finger," he said, moving it first horizontally then vertically before Ryan's face. "You're incredibly lucky to be here at all. Do you realize how much worse things would be if the guy who attacked you had gone for your head instead of your arm?" Ryan wasn't really in the mood to tell the guy that that was exactly what had happened.

He was lucky, he got that. But for the first time that evening, it struck him just how fortunate he was. He really could have gotten himself in a lot worse shape than this; what if the guy with the gun at the chop-shop had fired it, instead of just using it to break his nose? He could have been killed. That would have been one hell of a low way to repay the Cohens for taking him in. Ryan remembered the look of thinly veiled contempt on his attackers faces as they'd laid into him; they made him feel worthless, pathetic, de-humanized. It had been a long time since anybody had made him feel that way and tonight he'd actually volunteered for it. Not only that, but in doing so, he'd also managed to ruin the Thanksgiving of almost everyone he cared about and who cared about him. It made him feel sick. Suddenly, he didn't feel like talking, he just wanted to be left alone.

The student took a small light from his coat pocket and shined it in Ryan's eyes. Squinting at the brightness, Ryan scrunched his eyes shut to clear the purple-blue blobs from his vision. He could tell the med. student could sense his sudden quietness and was hoping for a sign of interest from Ryan in his own well-being, but still he didn't feel like complying. Sensing he wasn't going to be left alone unless he offered something, Ryan opted for the obvious. "When can I go home?" he asked. Guessing that this was as much as he was going to get from Ryan, the med. student relented.

"Tomorrow, hopefully. We'll see. I saw your friend leave, he said your Dad's on his way; we'll talk it over together when he gets here. In the meantime, stay put."

"Do I have a choice?" said Ryan, sounding only a little more disgruntled than he honestly felt.

"Does it look like I'm offering you one?" the med. student replied jovially, as he replaced the chart at the end of Ryan's bed. He put a kindly hand on the lump of blankets where Ryan's feet were, "Trust me Ryan, I've been here myself and I know what you're going through. But things can only get better from now." Sensing Ryan's skepticism, the med. student gave Ryan's foot a squeeze and smiled at him, "Plus chicks really dig the wounded hero thing; my advice is to milk it." Ryan returned the smile in spite of himself. The med. student headed for the door, switching off the light over Ryan's bed as he did so, slipping the room into semi-darkness.

"Sleep. If you need something for the pain, or you need anything else, just let me know; I'm on 'til eight."

"Okay. Thanks," Ryan said, as the med. student departed, the words coming out more softly than he'd intended. He felt absolutely exhausted; the effort of trying not think too hard about the last twelve hours suddenly catching up with him. His physical condition aside, he'd managed to piss off one of his oldest friends, scare the crap out of another, violate the terms of his probation, sign the death warrant of a beautiful car, fight with his girlfriend, further incur the wrath of her mother and last not but not least not only continue the Atwood tradition of disastrous of family holidays but also drag the Cohens along for the ride. Not bad for a day's work. And he hadn't even got to eat turkey! As much as he'd made fun of Seth earlier this morning, and even though he wasn't overly fond of festivities, the idea of eating of so much so he burst had seemed ridiculous, frivolous and fantastically appealing. Right now, however, all he wanted to do was sleep. Ryan closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of all the conflicting feelings that cluttered it up. By the time Sandy entered the room ten minutes later, he was fast asleep.

* * *

Sandy had read enough of Ryan's file to know that the kid had been in hospital more than once before this and for variety of reasons, but seeing him now, small and sleeping brought home to Sandy for the first time the stark reality of Ryan's life and countless numbers of kids like him. He'd told Ryan when they'd first met that the two of them were not so different, but as he walked across the room to sit by Ryan's side, he knew that was a long, long way from the truth. Sure, Sandy's family and his upbringing were less than perfect, but with only a small nudge, Sandy had made his own destiny, had got himself a living, a family and a life that he was content with. Ryan, however, had been given a fairly hefty helping hand, but still had to fight tooth and nail to make his way forward in the world. Sandy didn't believe in astrology, considering it even in his hippie phase to be a load of crap, but if ever he needed proof that some people are just born under inauspicious stars, then it was sleeping in front of him now.

God, he looked awful. Sandy was deeply relieved that he'd insisted Kirsten and Seth join him in the morning. It was fantastically unlikely that Ryan's appearance would have improved significantly by the time they arrived tomorrow, but with any luck, Ryan would at least be awake and talking. Well, awake, at any rate. Sandy doubted that whatever had happened earlier that evening to his foster son, Ryan was probably not going to be overwhelmingly forthcoming. After all, he was not exactly what you'd call chatty at the best of times. Unlike Seth. Boy, could that kid talk. Right now he was probably going at full tilt, like a record on the wrong speed. Sandy supposed that if he'd have been left alone with him this evening instead of Kirsten, then he'd probably have slipped a valium into some hot chocolate and told Seth to drink it while it's hot. Still, Sandy wouldn't have traded Seth's terminal verbosity for anything. Looking at Ryan's sleeping form, he knew he wouldn't trade anything for Ryan's laconic nature either. Ryan had a measured quietness about him that Sandy found calming. Watching him sleeping so deeply now was a completely different experience; his quietness eerie, the result of great hurt, not a conscious choice and Sandy was deeply unsettled by it. Feeling older then he ever had in his life, Sandy leaned forward and gently took Ryan's good hand in his own, rubbing it lightly, hoping that morning and a better outlook would soon be here.

* * *

Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, particularly **muchtvs** for liking my Seth. I worry that I make him sound five!

More soon.


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: I've clearly unlocked the sadist within. Dammit!

* * *

Trey lay on his back, listening to the soft snoring of his cellmate on the bunk below. His mind was running at a pace the like of which he hadn't experienced since the night he and Ryan were arrested. Sleep was out of the question. Moving carefully so as not to wake up his sleeping companion, Trey rolled over on to his side to look at the few photographs stuck on to his wall. A patch of buzzing artificial light filtered in through the window from the library down the block, faintly illuminating the small cell. After a few weeks here Trey had got used to sleeping only in the semi-darkness, but tonight the light drew his gaze inescapably to a picture of him and Ryan taken about four years ago. He couldn't believe how much younger, how much happier they looked. It had been taken by their mother down the coast when they'd gone on vacation for the July 4th weekend. It was without doubt the best trip they'd ever had. Their mom had been sober for a whole six months and the vacation was a celebration. The picture captured the beautiful moment of the telling of some long forgotten joke and the smiles on the brothers' faces reflected the hope they held for their bright futures together.

The trip was perfect; they spent the day building sandcastles, burying their mother in the sand and paddling in the shallows. Later, they'd sat up to all night to watch the fireworks from the beach huddled in sleeping bags around a campfire stoked with driftwood. They stayed awake to watch the sun rise out of the ocean and Trey and Ryan got into a fight about which way round the sun should be. Trey erroneously believed that the sun rose in the west and set in east, Ryan was trying to convince him that it was the other way, it was just the shape of the coastline that created the optical illusion of the sun rising and setting in the same place. It had culminated in a suncream fight, with both Trey and Ryan ending covered head to toe in cream, sand and in Ryan's case chocolate spread, when Trey went for what was handy in his mother's bag and came up with the left over ingredients of the smores they'd had the previous night. Their mother had rescued the camera from the crossfire and captured the moment. Trey smiled to himself, remembering how much fun they'd all had that day and how important it had all seemed. Two weeks later both brothers knew that the sun rose and set with A.J. In the photographs that Dawn had taken since he'd moved in, Ryan and Trey much looked older; detached from their surroundings and hardened to the world. Neither Trey nor Ryan had kept any of those.

Now lying awake in the eerie quiet, Trey couldn't remember feeling more alone. He missed Ryan more than anything; missed his dopey grin; his measured quietness, his dark sense of humor and the way he could destroy a well thought-out comeback with a single wry look. Most of all Trey missed looking out for him. Sure, he wished he didn't have to, but the Atwoods weren't born lucky and knowing that Ryan was out there on his own, without anyone from home to keep an eye out for him had kept Trey awake listening to the extensive range of his cellmate's snoring many nights before now. The problem was trouble just seemed to find Ryan. Like a heat-seeker missile hunting him down, Ryan could dodge it for a while but it was always there, ready to strike. Trey had a horrible feeling that tonight trouble had locked on to its target and exploded.

Being in jail had allowed Trey plenty of time to think and as he looked on the image of his brother's face beaming out at him from under a mass of chocolate and factor thirty, he wondered more than ever what had happened to turn the happy smiling kid into the tired, world weary shade who had visited earlier that day. It was more than a product of being to often on the receiving end of a cruel word or a hard hand, instead seeming to Trey the expression of an optimist too often disappointed. To see it on the face of his little brother was terrifying.

Trey wasn't an idiot; he knew that he had been much of the cause of the trouble in Ryan's life in the last few years; first when he still lived at home and used to fight with A.J., Ryan had sometimes gotten in the way of things. Sometimes A.J. had just plain gone for them both. Later, after Trey had finally moved out, things didn't improve. He remembered one time not long after he left, Ryan had begged him to come home, or even just to stay the night. He'd got himself so worked up about the situation with his mother, he'd started get breathless, something that he'd grown out of before he'd hit double figures and had never been much of a problem before then. Turning his back and walking away from his little brother as he'd struggled for breath between pleading words had hurt Trey even more than the day he finally realized what kind of man their father was. It was without question the single worst moment in his half-lived life. He was so angry; with A.J. for treating Ryan this way, with his father for not having been a better man and most of all with his mother, for having chosen her boyfriend over her sons, either through cowardice or indifference. It had only been the knowledge that A.J. would not tolerate having him back in the house and would have no doubt have expressed his displeasure physically that had stopped Trey from staying. That night, just to spite Trey, Ryan had picked a fight with A.J. for the first and last time. It wasn't long after he came out of the hospital that Ryan started to crash round at Arturo's.

Trey recalled going round to his friend's house one morning and finding Ryan sleeping on the couch for the first time. He was instantly frightened, wondering what A.J. had done to make him flee, but his concern turned to relief as he comprehended how deep and peaceful Ryan's sleep was; the first time it had been since A.J. had moved in. If it wasn't for the crutches on the floor and a foot in a yellow cast sneaking out from under the blankets, no-one would be any the wiser that this wasn't just a kid crashing on his friend's sofa. In a rare foray in to the world of cooking, Trey had made pancakes, bacon and eggs and he, Ryan, Arturo and Theresa had eaten breakfast together, laughing as they flicked the burnt bits at each other. Even though he didn't feel he deserved it, Trey knew that Ryan had forgiven him. But something in his brother had shifted. It was subtle, but unmistakable; the bursts of laughter ended quicker, the smiles faded faster. Ryan had never been a big talker to begin with, but before long, he rarely spoke unless spoken to. Right now, Trey would have happily doubled his sentence just to be able to hear Ryan's voice telling him he was okay. They had both known what Trey was asking of his brother that afternoon; the fact that Trey would have and indeed had done the same for Ryan didn't make it any easier. It wasn't fair and they both knew it. Trey just hoped that Ryan had had the good sense to tell Arturo where he was going and that Arturo had shown the loyalty to follow him. For now, all he could do was wait for morning.

* * *

Ryan drifted on the edge of sleep; his tiredness trying to pull him into blankness, losing a battle against the increasing pain in his arm as it dragged him back to the waking world. He could hear a rhythmic sighing and wondered whether he himself was the cause of it. Probably not, it sounded healthy. Ryan's right arm tingled and he groaned inwardly as he recognized the telltale signs of a too-tight cast. Perfect. There was no way he was going to be able to get back to sleep now. Except it was pain pulsing through his other arm that had caused him to wake up in the first place; he'd broken his left arm... this was confusing. Both felt so heavy. Admitting defeat, Ryan opened his eyes. Sandy was fast asleep by his side; the chair he sat on balanced precariously on its front two legs, his head on Ryan's hand, squashing it in to the bed and cutting off the circulation. Ryan smiled to himself; Seth could also drop off anytime, anywhere, this must be where he got it from. It was quite a skill, and one that he envied, being personally unable to sleep any place other than beds and sofas. Ryan watched Sandy sleep in quiet jealousy for a little while before starting to gently try and pry his hand loose from under his nodding head.

Sandy awoke with a jolt, startling both himself and Ryan as the chair toppled and he found himself in an undignified heap on the cold linoleum floor. He shook himself awake before looking up at Ryan.

"Hi Kid," he said, casually, as though nothing deeply embarrassing had just happened.

"Hey," replied Ryan. It was strange, he'd wanted to see Sandy so badly earlier, now he was here, all Ryan could do was think about how disappointed he must be. As if to confirm his thoughts, Sandy sighed.

"God Ryan, you look awful," he said sympathetically, getting to his feet and righting the chair. He pulled it in close to Ryan's side and took the boy's hand once more in his own. Ryan let him, comforted by the gesture. "What are we going to do with you?" asked Sandy wearily.

"Boot camp?" suggested Ryan, joking half-heartedly. Sandy smiled a little.

"Seth told me you were funny now." The light-moment passed. They sat in stagnated silence, both unsure of what to say next, both unwilling to admit it. Just as Ryan had earlier with the med. student, Sandy opted for the obvious, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright. Not great," said Ryan, his sense of foreboding growing.

"And your arm? Not too painful?"

"Just heavy," lied Ryan. They lapsed into silence again. Ryan knew what was coming and although he knew it was inevitable, he had never felt less like talking.

"Look, Ryan." said Sandy, breaking the stalemate, "We need to talk and we can either do it now, or wait until the drugs wear off. Either way, I think can both agree that it's best we do it without an audience."

"I guess." Even though Sandy recognized Ryan's response as resignation rather than as consent, he knew there were things that had to be discussed and letting them fester was not going to help anybody. So he began.

"So what happened?" he asked calmly.

"Trey needed me. He owed money. Six grand," Ryan answered, pre-empting Sandy's next question, "I settled the debt."

"You deliberately went and took a beating for your brother? To pay off a debt?" said Sandy, incredulous.

"Not exactly," said Ryan, feeling increasingly stupid, "I dropped off a car."

"Stolen?" asked Sandy, disappointed by the answer he knew was coming.

Feeling ashamed, Ryan nodded. "This was interest," he said, lifting his broken arm by way of explanation. "Trey didn't know. It's not his fault. Or Arturo's," he added quickly, not wanting to get his friend in trouble, "By the time he found me... I don't remember." Ryan trailed off. He could practically feel Sandy's disapproval radiating towards him.

Sandy let go of Ryan's hand and rubbed at his temples, trying to keep his growing exasperation in check. Finally, he spoke. "Why didn't you call us?" he said, deliberately measured and calm.

"Because it's my problem, you shouldn't have to deal with this stuff," said Ryan honestly.

"God, why do you do that?!" snapped Sandy, giving into his frustration. "Have you any idea how irritating you can be? Irritating, that's not the right word. Exasperating, that's it. You are completely exasperating, Ryan. Not all the time, but just occasionally, my God you're infuriating. Believe me, I don't regret asking you to move in, none of us do, not for a heartbeat. It's the best and easiest decision I ever made, but you sure as hell don't make it easy sometimes."

"I'm sorry, I never meant..." Ryan stammered, trying to keep his anxiety in check, hating the fact that he was somehow managing to make Sandy feel both uneasy and aggravated. He tried again.

"I don't want you think that I'm not grateful because I am, " he said apologetically, "I didn't mean not to show it, I just-"

Sandy sighed and Ryan fell suddenly silent. Sandy knew that the conversation was not going well. Not that he'd expected it to be bright and breezy, but Ryan's anxiety was obvious and clearly increasing in direct proportion to Sandy's frustration. Still, he pressed ahead. If he didn't get it all out now, he never would and that would help neither of them. He took a deep breath and making a conscious effort not to come off as aggressive, he made to continue, but Ryan got there first.

"But I don't know how... I mean, it's just hard..." he said, his voice small and submissive, "I know I'm not a big talker-"

"It's not the talking, Ryan," said Sandy, "Believe me, as much as I love him, I don't think I could keep my sanity with two Seth's in the house. It's what you talk about. Or rather what you don't. You expect total honesty from everyone, but you tell us next nothing about yourself and when we do, you seem to go out of your way to make people feel insensitive for asking. And it's exhausting."

"When I come back I'll be better, I promise, I'll try harder," said Ryan desperately wanting the conversation to end.

"It's not a question of trying, Ryan. It's a question of trust. I know we're not your blood kin, your biological family and God knows none of would ever want or try to replace them but Seth, Kirsten, you, me; the four of us, we are a family now. I just don't see why we have to be dysfunctional to prove it to you. Of course there's stuff that you're never going to share with me, there's stuff that I'm never going share with you. I know Seth and Kirsten have secrets from me, from each other; that's what families do. But there's a difference between holding cards close to your chest and not playing at all and you need to realize that."

Sandy stood up, and began pacing the room. Ryan watched him quietly, wanting all the time to say that he understood, that he was sorry, that he wanted to trust them all, that he wanted that more than anything, but that he just didn't have it in him, that he didn't think he could take being disappointed, or a disappointment again. But he couldn't trust himself to get it right, so instead, he stayed quiet, watching Sandy's anger boil. Suddenly Sandy stopped and turned back to him.

"Do you know what I realized the other day? That I don't even know when your birthday is. I had to look it up, to make sure we hadn't missed it."

"You haven't," he said automatically.

"But I didn't know that; that's the point. We don't need to know the crappy stuff, Ryan, we need to know the good stuff."

"I'm not used to celebrating birthdays," said Ryan, with absolutely no intention of explaining why. Slowly but surely, he could feel his anger rising to match Sandy's.

"Why not?" asked Sandy, predictably dissatisfied by Ryan's response, "You're not a Jehovah's Witness," He let out a grunt of frustration, "Then again, you could be, for all I know. You could come from a long line of blind Tibetan monks and I'd been none the wiser."

Ryan had had enough. Sandy wanted to talk, fine, they'd talk.

"I'm not a Jehovah's Witness, a monk, a nun or anything," he snapped, "I don't know what I am except terrified that I'm going end up exactly like my parents." He paused momentarily for breath, riled up, stressed out and becoming increasingly more so with each passing moment. He could feel his chest constricting the way it used sometimes when he was younger, but he was too angry to care and too anxious to make Sandy understand him to stop, so with fresh determination he carried on.

"It's alright for you, Sandy, you've moved on from your past and Seth's lucky and will never have to, but I'm not an idiot. I know what people think of me when they see me at school, or at parties and I hate it. I hate that they think that, and I hate it that when Kirsten first met she thought it too, and I hate that it bothers me so much and I hate that no-one knows what it's like to have to walk around feeling angry all the time and that you think you know what it's like, but you don't, you don't know, because nobody does, nobody. I come from a long line of people who take other people for granted and think nothing of it and I don't want be like that. When Dad went to jail I promised myself that I was going to make my own way; I only want what I've earned, otherwise I'm just the same as Dad, my Mom and all her sleazy boyfriends who freeloaded off her."

Just as suddenly as he'd begun, Ryan stopped. He was so angry he was shaking, and sweat was pouring off him. He drew in a ragged breath and finding it insufficient immediately fought for another. Unaware, Sandy responded, "You're right, Ryan, I am lucky, I don't know what it's like to be so angry, to have a past like yours hanging over me. But I do know that sooner or later you're going to have to get over it, or you're just going to end up wrecking your future." He looked over to Ryan, who yet again seemed to be detaching himself from the conversation. Sighing with frustration, he sat back down in the chair by Ryan's bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing, his tone becoming calmer.

"You need to open your eyes, Ryan. My wife just dropped a hundred thousand dollars on a trust fund idiot whose ego is bigger than his intellect. Do you think we'll see it back? No. Do you think we can afford it? Yes we can."

Ryan kept his eyes shut, hearing the sense in the words, but preoccupied by his rising panic as Sandy talked on, oblivious to his growing distress.

"You know, I'd be lying if I said that it didn't blow my mind that this is my life, that I am married to someone who has the financial capability to do that. But money is nothing without kindness, and it's the compassion and the generosity that matters. You have to make a choice; either to count your blessings and accept them or turn your back and walk away. You can't do both. A hundred thousand dollars, Ryan. What made you think we couldn't spare six for your brother?" Sandy rubbed at his temples again, looking down at the floor, hoping for an answer from the boy beside him. When none came, he added somewhat bitterly, "Just please tell me it wasn't because you missed having the crap kicked out of you."

"Sandy," said Ryan quietly breaking the silence as he reached out clumsily for him. Looking up, Sandy knew instantly that something was wrong. Ryan's demeanor was full of tension, his face a picture of mounting panic and fear as he drew in wheezing breaths that failed to satisfy him. Sandy leant over Ryan's head, repeatedly pressing the call button to summon help, before reaching to where the frightened boy's hand clutched futilely at the blankets and taking it gently in his own.

"Hey, it's alright, " Sandy said softly, trying not to let Ryan sense the panic he felt at the sudden worsening in his condition. "Everything's fine, help's coming. Just try to relax."

"I'm sorry," Ryan mumbled, between labored breaths.

"Shh, don't be absurd," said Sandy quietly as the med. student who'd attended to Ryan earlier entered the room with a nurse in tow. Instinctively, Sandy stood up and moved away, allowing them access to him.

"Hey, Ryan, it's Ed, remember me? This is Steve," he said, as he reached for the oxygen mask hanging behind Ryan and slipped it over his unresisting head. Steve cranked the valve open, releasing the oxygen in an audible hiss as Ed took out his stethoscope and listened to Ryan's chest.

"Just concentrate on breathing slowly and deeply for me, Ryan," he said as he listened. Ryan shut his eyes tightly, trying hard to comply.

"When did it start?" Ed asked, turning to Sandy briefly.

"A minute or two ago, maybe more. I'm not sure. We were arguing, I was shouting at him," he said, feeling ashamed, "He got angry and I got carried away."

"Okay," said Ed as he took the chart that Steve held out for him and made a note, "I think it's probably best if you step outside."

"No, I want to stay," said Sandy, never taking his eyes off Ryan, a crushing weight of guilt pressing down on him.

"I know, but it's best if you give us space," Ed insisted kindly yet firmly, nodding towards Steve who moved over to Sandy and quietly led him to the door.

"We'll look after him. I promise," he said as he guided Sandy out of the room.

"Right. Just let me know when..." said Sandy, looking towards Ryan, feeling both sickened and helpless by the sight of him staring desperately back, still searching vainly for relief.

"We will," replied Steve, closing the door on him before shutting the blinds and cutting Sandy off from the scene inside.

* * *

Slowly sinking down against the wall to sit on the floor, Sandy couldn't believe what he'd just done, what he just witnessed. Instead of offering Ryan a friendly ear and unconditional support when he needed it most, he'd verbally attacked him, to the extent that the kid had literally ended up shouting the breath out of him. What on earth had he been thinking? As if it wasn't bad enough seeing the result of Ryan's misadventures, he had to make the poor kid relive them. Sandy shook his head in disbelief in his own stupidity. Whilst it was true he'd been fortunate enough not to have any prior experience of events such as tonight's, his performance had been shocking. He'd actually told Ryan he looked awful. He'd just been brought into the hospital after being attacked and Sandy had basically told him to grow up, get over it and even accused him of going looking for trouble. Sandy wasn't sure that even Seth suffering from an extreme bout of foot-in-mouth disease would have been so blunt. And he had no idea how he was possibly going to be able to make up for it. He wouldn't blame Ryan if he never spoke to him again.

Kirsten had given him the silent treatment once for four whole days after Sandy had got drunk at a Newport Group charity auction and had thrown up into what he'd thought at the time was just a fancy trash can and had actually transpired to be a vase specially designed by some famous designer and donated for the benefit. Sandy had finally won her round by commissioning a vastly expensive florist to re-create the vase using only roses. Somehow, he didn't think that would work with Ryan. He just hoped that he would be recovered by morning; aside from his deep felt concern for the Ryan's well being, Sandy knew that Kirsten or Seth, or more likely both, were going to kill him.

* * *

I realize I've strayed from canon; but I hope I haven't strayed too far from character. Although I figured if Ryan and Seth can occasionally be gay, Ryan can occasionally not be 100% physically perfect. No wait, that's much less believable! Hate it, love it, review it.

Incidentally I'm moonlighting on a happy fic for when I've truly finished embracing my inner Ryan-basher. God bless Kandy.


	6. Chapter Six

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: Thank you for all the kind reviews, I hope you like this chapter too.

* * *

By the time Kirsten arrived with Seth at the hospital at a quarter to twelve she was wet, angry and beginning once more to feel the affects of her Mexican themed Thanksgiving dinner. She had a chronic case of the moonshine munchies and although drinking practically her own body weight in water had put an end to her pounding head, it had left her with desire to find a bathroom almost as strong as her urge to find Sandy and find out how Ryan was doing. She couldn't believe how long it had taken them to get here. Thanks to a cloudburst of rain and a jack-knifed delivery truck a mile away from the hospital, the taxi ride from Hell had brought Seth and Kirsten to their destination over a full hour after Sandy had arrived. It was only by getting out and walking that they'd made it there before midnight. They may be soggy, but at least now the four of them could be together. Now as they dripped and squelched their way through the hospital's pine-fresh hallways towards the ER, Kirsten was painfully aware how quiet Seth had suddenly fallen. He'd barely drawn breath between setting foot outside the house and their arrival, jabbering away about everything from the increasingly ominous weather, to a particularly moronic kid he was teaching to sail who had somehow managed to tie his thumbs together no less than three times in one lesson. Although Seth would have claimed his jabbering was to keep Kirsten's mind off thinking about what state they were going to find Ryan in when they arrived, one look at the bedraggled lanky kid holding his mother's hand would have made it obvious to an outside observer that he was just as worried as she was. When she didn't think she could stand it anymore, Kirsten spoke,

"You know, Seth, if you wanted just to wait back in the family room, that would be okay. I mean, Ryan's probably going to be asleep anyway, he's not going to know any different. I'm sure he wouldn't mind you hanging back." Hearing his mother's kind words brought Seth out of his reverie and he hesitated for only a moment before replying.

"I know," he sighed, "But I'd mind. I mean compared to Ryan's, my Thanksgiving has been pretty stellar, I think the least I can do is to show up."

Unconvinced by the uncertainty in Seth's tone, Kirsten offered again, "Seth. Ryan's going to look pretty nasty," she said, looking him straight in the eye, "And I'd be surprised if he wasn't more than just a little fractious. You know what happened to him today is going to stir up some fairly uncomfortable memories."

"I know what you're saying, Mom," replied Seth, avoiding her gaze, "But I think I should be there. It's just that... God, could I be more inarticulate? All these years at Harbor and I still have the sentence construction of a five year old."

"What is it, honey?" asked Kirsten kindly. Seth sighed in frustration.

"I know it's really selfish, but I'm almost more worried about saying the wrong thing to him then I am about how he is." He looked sideways at his mother, and seeing her frowning, looked quickly away again, "I know, I know, could I be more self-centered?"

Sensing Seth's embarrassment, Kirsten dropped his hand and put her arm around his back, pulling him into a hug as they walked, "It's not self-centered. At least I hope not, because I was kind of thinking the same thing."

Comforted by Kirsten's gesture, Seth looked back at her, "Really?"

"Sure I am. You know you're not the only one who sometimes finds Ryan a little hard to talk to. I mean think how it is for your father and me; one minute we have a sixteen year old adolescent in the house who can pack more words into one breath than should be theoretically possible and the next we've got another one, except this one has some serious anger-management issues and makes Marcel Marceau look like a real chatterbox. Easy was never an option."

"I know we never talk about it, and I'm not saying I want to start," said Seth relieved by his mother's admission, "But I just find it really weird knowing that Ryan's been here before. And I know that he's probably going to be thinking that we know and it's probably going to get really awkward and I don't want it to, I just want everything to be normal, but then again I thought things were normal 'til tonight and it's not worked out too well... But I still think I should be here, because whether or not we wanted to admit it when Ryan moved in, we all knew that sooner or later we were all going to be here or somewhere like it and now we are here and if I'm not here too then Ryan's going to know why and I think things are weird enough. Does any part of that make sense?"

Kirsten smiled to herself as Seth stopped to draw breath; his brow furrowed with frustration in an expression identical to Sandy's in all but the bushy eyebrows.

"More than you'd think." Kirsten stopped and turned Seth to face her. "Look, I understand that this is weird. It is for me too and no doubt Sandy and for Ryan, but look at this way, that's something we have in common. And at least that means we have some shared ground."

"Mom, that's twisted," he smiled dorkily at her, "A good point, but twisted."

"Yes, well I may still have some tequila in my system," Kirsten said with a twinkle in her smile to match her son's.

"You're done with the Technicolor belching though, right?" Seth teased as they resumed their soggy walk down the hall, "Because we're trying to make Ryan feel better here."

"Great bedside manner, Seth, truly. Ryan's going to love it."

"None can resist, Mom, none can resist."

"Let's hope not," she said, squeezing Seth tight as they walked into the ER, "Come on, let's go give your father an embolism."

"Hey, inappropriate humor's my thing, lay off," said Seth in mock aggression.

"Where do you think you get it from?" Kirsten replied, making Seth smile. She very much hoped that it would last.

* * *

Sandy had long ago lost feeling in his backside from sitting on the cold floor but he was too locked in his own self-pity to contemplate moving to the chairs to the side of him, stretching out his aching back or anything else other than dwelling on Ryan and how he might be doing. Now that his thoughts had been given time to settle, Sandy felt more keenly than ever a burden of guilt from letting Ryan down. Yes, their brief argument before Ryan had, well, pretty much stopped being able to breathe, proved that the communication issues in the Cohen household were in need of serious re-examination. But to shout at him like he had... he was an intelligent human being, a father, and for goodness sake a lawyer; he was supposed to be rational for a living. Instead, he'd let his conflicting emotions get the better of him and Ryan had ended up suffering for it. The only thing that troubled Sandy more than the fact that he'd stressed Ryan out so much he'd given him a panic attack, was the knowledge that in doing so he'd treated Ryan in the exact same way as all those despicable people he had read about in his file at the Public Defender's office only a few months earlier. The fact that it was not deliberate was incidental; in Sandy's mind, it was indistinguishable, he had abused a position of trust and had let the kid down. And perhaps worst of all, the thing that made Sandy feel more ashamed of himself than he would have thought possible, was the memory of Ryan frightened and fighting to breathe telling him he was sorry. If he lived until he was old man, Sandy knew that it was something that would stay with him forever.

Just when he thought he could bear this hellish waiting no longer, the door beside Sandy opened and Ed and Steve stepped out, looking confident. Seeing Sandy on the floor, Ed instinctively offered him his hand and helped him back onto his feet.

"I know the chairs are the not exactly world's most comfortable, but really, they're not that bad," he said kindly, motioning for them both to sit down as Steve disappeared down the hall, smiling reassuringly to Sandy as he passed by.

"Thanks," said Sandy, joining Ed before cutting to the chase, "Is Ryan okay?"

"He's fine, he's asleep. He was pretty scared for a while there, but once the medication kicked in he calmed down pretty quickly. He's doing much better now; exhausted, but well out of the woods."

"Good. That's good," said Sandy, hoping that by saying so out loud he could convince himself.

"His friend Arturo said he hasn't had an asthma attack since he was little, is that right?"

"I don't know," said Sandy, embarrassed. Seeing Ed's puzzled expression, he elaborated, "Ryan's only being living with us a few months, I'm his legal guardian. It's a long story. He doesn't like to share much."

"Who does?" said Ed, good-naturedly, sensing Sandy's unease. "So you didn't know he was asthmatic?"

"Not a clue. Does that make me the worst parent ever?"

"Not even close. If you'd had beaten him up the first place, then maybe you'd be in running, but otherwise no. Ryan's fine. When he first came in, he'd had a mild attack, it's not uncommon to have a couple close together, kind of like aftershocks from an earthquake."

"Except that it didn't look mild," said Sandy, not about to let himself off the hook that easily.

"Well, no it wasn't," admitted Ed, "but the assault, the previous attack and the fact he hasn't had one for a while and yes, unfortunately, arguing with you as well all builds up excessive anxiety. It's not that surprising. Distressing, regrettably yes, but not surprising. And if you didn't know Ryan was asthmatic in the first place, how could you possibly know that stress could trigger an attack?"

"I guess I couldn't," acknowledged Sandy reluctantly.

"Exactly. You couldn't, so stop tormenting yourself."

"But he's okay now?"

"Should be. I'll be keeping an eye on him overnight, but I don't see any reason why he shouldn't be able to go home tomorrow. He'll need to rest some, follow up with your family doctor, the fracture clinic and get his stitches out, but that can all be arranged without too much difficulty."

"Thank you," said Sandy letting out a small sigh of relief, "For everything."

"You're welcome." Despite Sandy's words, Ed couldn't fail to notice the tension lingering in the man sitting next to him. "You know," he said in an effort to re-assure him, "He was more concerned about you than he was about himself. "

"That's what worries me," Sandy said, "Ryan has a few issues. Not least of which is a overwhelming desire to want to help people."

"Doesn't sound all bad."

"Except that he's absolutely terrible about accepting help himself. Wouldn't dream of asking for it."

"Ah. One of those. I can't say I'm surprised," Sandy raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Ed elaborated, "I see a lot of kids like Ryan in here. Honestly, I'm a bit of Ryan myself."

"Me too."

"Then you know guys like us loathe admitting when we're over our heads. Control freaks, the lot of us. Why do you think I became a doctor? The short hours, the attractive strip lighting? Not even. It's because I like to feel like I've got some kind of grip on the world. I'm guessing you're the same."

"Lawyer," replied Sandy, confirming Ed's guess, "Ryan's lawyer, actually." Seeing Ed's surprise, Sandy continued, "Like I said, long story."

"There you go, case in point. I'm betting whatever Ryan decides to do with his life, it's probably not going to involve running a multi-national corporation or hostile takeovers."

"Probably not," Sandy agreed, with a smile, finally allowing himself to relax for the first time since Arturo had called earlier that evening. His job done, Ed got to his feet, his thoughts drifting to the large pot of coffee waiting for him in the staff lounge.

"We'll talk more tomorrow," he said, as he stretched his back out.

"You know, I still can't believe I shouted at him like I did," Sandy sighed, rubbing his head in his hands. Ed sat down again. Blood relation or no, he could definitely see a father-son resemblance between the boy lying asleep in the room next door and the man sitting next to him now.

"He seems to have forgiven you," he told Sandy honestly.

"Hmm." murmured Sandy, whether in disbelief or disapproval Ed couldn't tell. He went for paralyzing self-doubt; it seemed more likely.

"Seems to be a pretty loyal kid," he offered.

"Yeah. Another of his issues," said Sandy, looking up at Ed and realizing that the poor guy must be almost as tired as Ryan was, "All of which it's far too late to dwell on. Can I see him?" he asked hopefully, but already suspecting the answer.

"It'd be better to let him sleep; after the day Ryan's had, he needs it," replied Ed gently but firmly, confirming Sandy's thoughts. "We kept an eye on him for a while, just to be certain, made sure he got off alright." Sandy nodded. Ed stood up and laid a kindly hand on his shoulder. "Things always look better in the morning. I call it the Oklahoma effect. Bright golden hazes," Sandy smiled gratefully at the young man, relieved to know that Ryan had such kind and capable hands looking after him.

"Thank you," he said standing up and reaching to shake Ed's hand, "I don't have enough words, really."

"You're welcome," replied Ed, returning the handshake.

"Uh-oh," said Sandy suddenly, dropping Ed's hand and looking over the med. student's shoulder with a worried expression. Following his gaze, Ed saw Kirsten and Seth making their way down the hall.

"Wife?" he guessed.

"Wife. And son," he looked levelly at Ed, "I'm a dead man."

"Well, you're in the right place. Morgue's one floor down," he said, with a wry smile, "Best of luck."

"Thanks," said Sandy as Ed made his way down the hall, leaving Sandy alone to face the enemy, "I think I'm going to need it."

* * *

Deep down, Seth knew he was doing the right thing by not backing out of coming to see Ryan tonight; he had to be, because otherwise he wouldn't feel so apprehensive. This was beyond butterflies; he felt like there was a cake mixer whizzing on full speed in his stomach. Usually, when Seth was doing something wrong, he was a hundred percent certain that he shouldn't be doing it, like the time he had attempted to jump the steps from the library to the quad at junior school on his skateboard. He knew that he wasn't good enough before he'd done it; landing on his ass and scraping his hands up spectacularly had just proved it. But that wasn't the point, the point was that Seth never had and never would run away from things that scared him. Well, with the exception of Summer, but he'd got there eventually. When it came down to it, Seth was a good guy; a white hat like Butch or Sundance, Boromir, or that dude in The Last of the Mohicans who charged the crazy Huron for the love of a girl. Courage in the face of danger; or in this case, totally uncomfortable emotional confrontations with the 'rents. And one was coming, he could tell by the hesitant look on his dad's face as they walked towards him. His mom, however, was having none of it and pulled her husband into a close embrace.

Seth hung back as his parents held one another, torn between making fun of their embarrassing public display of affection and joining them in it. Sandy made the decision for him, reaching out for his son and pulling him into a three-way bear hug. Seth let himself be engulfed in a flood of emotion as father, mother and son sought comfort in one another. Eventually, inevitably, it was Kirsten who pulled away first.

"Well?" she said, looking at Sandy with hopeful eyes.

"Broken arm, broken hand, broken nose, bruised ribs and a pretty bad gash in his back," said Sandy, cutting to the chase, "And a couple more shiners to add to the running total."

Seth let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding. Kirsten relaxed a little, but eighteen years of marriage had taught her to recognize the signs of Sandy holding back on her more keenly than her son.

"What is it Sandy?" she asked.

"I did something stupid," he replied wearily, retreating to the row of chairs and sitting down once more.

"How stupid?" asked Kirsten as she joined her husband. When he didn't respond, Seth echoed his mother's inquiry.

"Dad? How stupid? Like you forgot to forgot to feed the parking meter stupid or you forgot pay the health insurance stupid?" Sandy smiled for the briefest of moments at Seth's words before responding.

"Different stupid. I yelled at Ryan. A lot."

"You did what?!" exclaimed Kirsten, angrily.

"I yelled at him. Said some pretty unforgivable things as well."

"Unbelievable," said Kirsten, her exasperation clear, "I don't even want to know what you thought you were thinking."

"Did he yell back?" asked Seth, trying not to let things get out of control.

"Briefly," said Sandy abashed, "It didn't end well."

"Sandy. Elaborate. Now." Kirsten demanded, her face bordering on thunderous.

"Seth, did you know that Ryan had asthma?" Sandy asked his son.

Seth looked at his father, momentarily taken aback by the question. This he was not expecting. "No," he replied finally, "He doesn't tell me anything. Or at least not that stuff anyway."

"Well, apparently he does," continued Sandy, not at all surprised by Seth's lack of knowledge, "And when I yelled at him, I kind of set it off."

"Sandy, what exactly were you arguing about?" asked Kirsten, her tone a little softer.

"That he doesn't tell us anything," For what seemed like the umpteenth time that night, Sandy sighed, "Honestly, it scared the crap out of me."

"And Ryan?"

"Scared the crap out of him too. It was pretty horrible."

"And now?"

"Now he's asleep. I just talked to the doctor, he said Ryan's going to be fine, we can take him home tomorrow."

"I'll go sit with him."

"The doctor said to leave him be."

"I wasn't planning on waking him," Kirsten replied indignantly.

"Kirsten, honey," said Sandy gently, "He's going to be alright."

Sandy and Seth waited apprehensively for a moment to see if Kirsten was going to take her husband's word for it or let loose. Finally, she sighed and leant her head back against the wall.

"This sucks," she mumbled. Seeing the amused expressions on Sandy and Seth's faces, she added, "Well, it does."

"Totally," chipped in Sandy, as she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Utterly," said Seth not wanting to be left out. He went to join his parents, but for the first time since he was ten, he shunned the chair, instead plonking himself down on his father's lap.

"Good grief, Seth," joked Sandy, wrapping an arm around him, "I think we need to start rationing your cereal."

"Bite me Dad," Seth grunted back, but he was glad of the change in mood.

There may not be any raindrops on roses in the vicinity right now, but at least he knew they were on the horizon and that was enough for the moment. As the three of them sat in almost contented silence, Seth's only niggling doubt was what would come next. Before tonight, he'd finally felt like things were beginning things for work for him. For the first time in a long time, he had stopped waiting for life to start and was actually living it. He had always known Ryan was a big part of that; just having someone around who got him, that didn't think he was a geek or weird, or if he did, he didn't care, had given Seth's confidence an huge boost. If there was one guy out there who he could be friends with, particularly one who he would normally expect to pee in his shoes, then there must be more. And if he could talk to guys, then he could talk to girls, and if he could talk to them then maybe if could date them and in that way lay the fun. But first he had to get them to talk to him again and for that he needed Ryan's advice. For perhaps the first time, Seth realized how much he took Ryan for granted. It had been easy to do, after all he was always so damn keen to get along with everyone, but as he sat snuggled into his father's shoulder, he made a silent promise to himself to be a better friend. Starting with the next time Ryan needed his help, whether he asked for it or not and whether it be Chino stuff, Newport stuff, gnarly homework or a Marissa melee, Seth wouldn't let his attention be diverted by the mention of a girl, even one as hot as Anna. And as soon as Ryan woke up he was going to tell him.

"I'm sorry I can't wait any longer," exclaimed Kirsten suddenly as she jumped to her feet.

"Kirsten, the doctor -" said Sandy gently but firmly pushing Seth off his lap as he stood up to meet his wife.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," interrupted Kirsten, "Ryan needs his sleep. But I need a bathroom and I need to find one, like right now."

Sandy laughed for the first time that evening since taking Arturo's call, "Come on, let's go exploring. I could murder a coffee. Seth?" he asked, "Do you want to come for the walk?"

"That's okay, Dad," he replied, "I'm still drying off from the last one."

"Fair enough. We won't go far," said Sandy as Kirsten led him away determinedly up the hall.

Seth back down in the chairs and watched them disappear around the corner at he the end of the hallway. When they were out of sight, he began to count; first to two hundred and then another hundred just to be sure. Then he stood up and as quietly as he could, he opened the door to Ryan's room and slipped inside.

* * *

Seth hadn't expected Ryan to look great, but he'd expected him to look better than this. For starters, he seemed to have shrunk and he was somehow managing to seem both old beyond his years and a little kid at the same time. As Seth moved across the room to sit by his friend, he didn't feel like the Ryan he knew was really there at all. Seth felt sick as he took in all the needles and tubes that surrounded Ryan, invading his personal space. Despite himself, Seth was almost impressed by the mammoth orange cast that encased Ryan's left arm from thumb to elbow. Being a veteran himself, he knew exactly how much it was going to irritate the hell out of Ryan. He could practically already hear the arguments between Sandy and Ryan about bike riding and playing soccer unfolding in his head. If Ryan had gained his battle scars as the result of either of those activities, Seth would have delighted in teasing him about the perils of jock-dom, but this wasn't funny. The sight of him battered and bruised, breathing in shallowly through an oxygen mask seemed like something that belonged in a parallel universe. Unconsciously making exactly the same decision as his father had done only a few hours earlier, Seth decided right there and then that this was the last time he would let this happen. Furthermore, there was absolutely no way he was leaving this room until Ryan did. His mind made up, Seth stood up and took off his still squelchy shoes, then removed his soggy jacket and balled it up. Softly, so to be sure not disturb his friend, he moved around the bed to the corner of the room where he knew Ryan would be able to see him if woke up and then using his jacket as makeshift pillow, curled up on the floor and drifted off into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Chapter Six? How did this happen? I'm not Storymom or MaudWalter. I suppose I'm trying to make this story last, as my knowledge of The O.C. runs out at The Countdown and I'm trying to stay spoiler free. Except for the finale, obviously, but there's nothing as good as hiatus fanfic. Sigh!


	7. Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: Girl next door alert... you have been warned.

* * *

It had been the best part of twenty years since she'd last had one, but as she watched the minute hand on the hallway clock click excruciatingly slowly round to seven am, Kirsten had never missed smoking more. Smoking was the ultimate second killer, particularly if it was the last one in the pack. Kirsten was no physicist, but she had long been convinced that anybody searching for proof for Einstein's Theory of Relatively need look no further than an avid non-smoker stood next to a two packs a day junkie on their last cigarette. Right now she was so twitchy she'd have settled for a nicotine patch and a candy stick. She was well aware that her craving wasn't helped any by the fact that Sandy was fast asleep in the chair next to her, his head nodding forward as if his neck was made of Silly Putty. She deeply envied the fact that both Sandy and Seth could drop off wherever, whenever. Somewhat predictably, Seth had sneaked into Ryan's room the second she and Sandy had been out of earshot and when she'd stolen a glance inside she'd found him curled up in a ball on the cold hard floor, sleeping like the proverbial log. But not her. Kirsten knew she was doomed to need a mattress; whether it be on her lovely king size at home, a squishy waterbed like she'd flirted with for a few years as a teenager, or hell, even her old, lumpy and more than a little ripe floral print mattress she'd called her own when she lived in the mail truck. Kirsten smiled at the memory of it; that old mattress had seen some pretty wild times, not the least of which had resulted in the log in the other room.

She checked the clock again. One minute past seven. Only fifty-nine minutes to kill until the world started waking up proper and she could start to feel as though yesterday's dreadful Thanksgiving was well and truly behind her. As far as Kirsten was concerned, the last twenty fours hours, from Ryan's ill- fated trip to Chino, to her father's bizarre performance, to Seth's sudden metamorphosis into teenaged philanderer, not to mention her own close encounter with a bottle of Mexico's finest, had only served to show how screwed things had managed to get just because they weren't paying attention. In a few hours, she could get all three of her guys home and they could start sorting things out, start building their family again, but properly this time, so they ended up a functioning group of contented people, instead of three independent units, merely co-habitant under the same roof. Lord knows there was plenty of raw material.

Bored out of her wits, Kirsten stood up and crossed over to the notice board covered with fliers and leaflets hanging on the wall opposite. She'd already read everything on it on her first trip over. On her second she'd straightened all the fliers so that they were horizontal. Now starting ironically with a large "No Smoking" poster, she began to move the drawing pins around so that their colors matched the posters. It was tedious, but a distraction marginally more exciting than examining her hair for non-existent split ends which she'd occupied herself with for a full ten minutes not so long ago. The sad thing was, as boring as color coordinating drawing pins was, she'd actually been saving it until seven. Hence her growing desire for a cigarette. To take her mind off it, Kirsten moved to the water cooler and poured herself another plastic cup of water. With any luck she'd need to go to the bathroom again soon, which would give her an excuse to go for a wander through the halls.

"Can I grab one of those?" rang out Sandy's voice unexpectedly from behind her. Startled, Kirsten turned to see her husband yawning spectacularly.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said amiably as she drew off another cup of water and took it over to him.

"Ah, thank you," he said taking it gratefully and drinking deeply. After draining the water in one gulp, he sighed in satisfaction, "Morning. Seth about?"

"Still asleep in the other room."

"And Ryan?"

"Ditto. At least I think they are. I haven't looked in for a while. Didn't want to wake them."

"Have you slept at all?"

"Are you kidding? I've run through all the states in my head, run through the name alphabet four times, boys and girls, and not a wink."

"Four times, huh? Personal best," said Sandy, impressed.

"I may have cheated a little," Kirsten admitted, before laying her head on Sandy's shoulder with a sigh.

"Come here," he said gently, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her on the forehead, "You must be exhausted."

"I'm okay," she replied. Sensing her husband's skepticism, she elaborated, "I'm sort of past tiredness. Well into my second wave. But I'm glad you're awake," she said, looking up at him, "We didn't really talk last night and I think we should before the kids spring into action."

"I agree," said Sandy, "Although I don't think Ryan's going to be springing anywhere for a while."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I know. And you know what I mean. You got any ideas on how to make him take it easy for a while?"

"Aside from pot brownies, not a one."

Sandy couldn't help but chuckle a little, "I always used to love it that the woman who can't boil eggs could make the world's best pot brownies."

Kirsten leaned over a little and whispered conspiratorially into Sandy's ear, "I'll let you into a secret."

"What's that?"

"They were just add water. All I had to do was add the weed and stick 'em in the oven."

"Ah mystery solved," replied Sandy with a smile. "Although now of course, the domestic goddess illusion is shattered."

"I'm sure you'll cope," said Kirsten amiably. After the tension of the previous evening, it felt good to share a joke together. Before the light- hearted mood dissipated into a solemn silence, Sandy spoke.

"We did do the right thing, didn't we? Letting Ryan go to see Trey?"

"Of course we did, "replied Kirsten immediately, "Besides, how exactly do you tell a sixteen year old that he can't see his big brother on Thanksgiving?"

"I guess. I should have gone with him though."

"Perhaps. Or I should have. But we didn't, so there's no point in torturing ourselves over it, because it's too late now," said Kirsten, the unwavering rationality of her words comforting Sandy.

"You know what," she continued, her tone softening as she remembered her earlier conversation with her son, "Seth was right; when he and I were talking last night he said that sooner or later we were going to end up here, and it's true, we probably were. We just didn't want to admit it."

"I know I didn't, "Sandy replied honestly, "I suppose in a way I just find it easier to imagine Ryan didn't really exist before I met him. Which I realize is incredibly narcissistic, even for a cynical old fool like me, but the truth is, I don't want to think about his life before us. I don't want to think about Ryan's family, where he grew up, and not just because of some of the horrible stuff he's been though, but because it's easier to pretend that he's our son. And of course I know he isn't really, no matter how much it may feel that way sometimes. I guess I just got carried away. I wanted to be able to make things right for him, to fix him and I ended up using crazy glue, when I should have used Spackle. I think I thought that if I treated him the same as Seth, then somehow he would just be the same as Seth." Sandy stopped his rambling momentarily, frustrated by his attempt to verbalize his conflicting emotions. Kirsten sat quietly with him, letting him gather his thoughts. After a moment's pause, he continued.

"Do you know what he told me when we first met? He said, 'Where I'm from, having a dream doesn't make you smart. Knowing it won't come true... that does.' That's what stuck with me, Kirsten. He's sixteen years old; he should be taking dreams for granted."

Sandy looked at his wife, his hurt clearly evident in the worry lines of his face. Touched by the second hand words of the man beside her, it took a few seconds for her to find the right ones of her own with which to respond. Finally, Kirsten took his hand in hers and looked straight into Sandy's eyes.

"You're right, he should," she replied decisively, "And we're going to help him learn how to."

* * *

Marissa walked down the hallway towards her father's apartment still trying to decide whether opting for lies or honesty would get her in more trouble with her Dad. She was going to be grounded, there was no getting out of that, but now it was just a question of how long for. She wouldn't particularly mind being grounded; it wasn't like she had the world's most exciting social life right now anyway, but she wanted Ryan to be able to come over. There were things she needed to know, things they needed to talk about. When she'd dropped the Cohen's car off at their house a little earlier that morning, there hadn't seemed to be any signs of life stirring from within, not even Sandy going for an early morning surf as he did so often. She'd even crept around to the pool house to see if Ryan was awake, but had chickened out from knocking at the last minute. Some things were better left until the day had begun.

Thanksgiving had not gone well. For starters, there was Theresa. Ryan might not have mentioned her, but there was no way that he hadn't thought about her, the expression on the face when she'd open the door to see him standing there had said it all and brought one word screaming into Marissa's mind; history. Even in that briefest of lingering looks, Marissa knew that there was a connection between the Ryan and Theresa that went deeper than anything that she'd yet experienced with him and it bothered her more than she could say. Marissa knew a large part of it was irrational; the things that had probably brought Ryan and Theresa close to one another were things that she wouldn't wish on her worst- well, not even on Holly. Yet in that short awkward moment on the doorstep, it became apparent to Marissa just how much Ryan was holding back from her and whatever the reason, she didn't like it one little bit. Deep down, she knew that it was largely down to her wounded pride that had driven her back to Newport so quickly after last night's fight. It was also largely down to anger, even now she couldn't believe how Ryan had gone off on one at her for lying about being allowed to come down to Chino with him. So what if she had? It was hardly the crime of the century. And as the encounter with Theresa had so clearly demonstrated, Ryan was far from 100% forthcoming with her. On reflection, it was probably a good thing that they'd made their separate ways back to Newport. But that didn't mean she didn't want things to work out between them, she did, so very badly. Marissa wasn't sure if she was in love with Ryan, but she loved being with him, of that she was certain. He made her feel curiously safe and wild at the same time; when she was with him it was like his rebel without a cause personality somehow rubbed off on her, yet she also felt like he would never let anything bad happen to her. Sometimes she wondered if she was using him, but then again Ryan was so easy-going with everyone, she figured it was just his way. Perhaps that was why she found it so frustrating when he held things back from her. Hopefully, he could come over tonight and they could talk things through. But before that she had her father to face. As she slipped the quietly key in the lock of the apartment, Marissa made her decision; go for the classic, honesty with a side of vague. So far, it had served her well.

* * *

Seth awoke with absolutely no clue where he was. He'd opened his eyes to find a wall where no wall should be, there was a weird smell permeating his senses and his bed seemed to have developed an unusual linoleum motif that he couldn't previously recall. Seth wondered briefly if the weird smell was a remnant of his mother's margarita misadventures until from the other side of the room, there came a quiet grunt followed by a creak and the events of last night all came rushing back.

His senses regained, Seth got to his feet and looked over to see how Ryan was doing. Seth almost laughed at the sight of him; despite the tubes, the mask, the cast, the unfamiliar surroundings and increasingly large and purple nose, Ryan was fast asleep on his side, limbs splayed everywhere as normal and, Seth suspected with amusement, subconsciously trying to suck his thumb. There was no doubt about it, Ryan was definitely looking better and he was extraordinarily glad of it. Seth had joked with his mother only a few hours earlier that Ryan was the burly one, but it was something that they all took for granted. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Seth moved over to his friend and shifted the blankets slightly to cover one of his one feet that was hanging exposed off the side of the bed. Unfortunately, Seth realized with irritation, his new found protective instincts apparently did not come with an ability to suppress the urge to pee so he reluctantly turned away from Ryan and quietly crept his way across the room to the door. As he reached for the handle and gently pulled the door open, Seth heard Ryan stir and turned to see him sluggishly pulling the oxygen mask off before lumbering his cumbersome injured arm under the covers and bringing them in tightly around himself.

"You cold?" asked Seth, pausing in the doorway.

"Hey," Ryan said wearily, pleasantly surprised as he noticed his friend's presence for the first time, "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you know, Thanksgiving at home is so passe," said Seth, as he let the door fall closed again, "Thought I'd stop by, see you, do some good deeds; it's all the rage you know. All the kids at school do it. Makes us feel less shallow."

Ryan couldn't help but raise a smile, "Glad to be of service." He shivered again and pulled the blankets in closer, wincing slightly as he did so.

"You okay, man?" Seth asked, concerned.

"It's just my ribs," Ryan replied, automatically down playing it. He could tell Seth was unconvinced and decided to come clean, "And my arm aches," he added, "And I'm kinda cold."

"I'll go get someone," Seth said, relieved that Ryan was being honest with him for once instead of playing the noble hero.

"Thanks," said Ryan. He watched as Seth reached for the door handle. As glad as he was to Seth, to have that sense of normality around him, the person he really wanted to talk was Sandy. Impulsively, he called out to his friend, "Hey, Seth."

Seth stopped again and looked back at Ryan. "Yeah?" he asked, the warm tone of his voice warm matched by an expression of concern on his face.

Ryan took one look at him and changed his mind. He didn't think he was quite ready to handle Sandy's disappointment just yet and Seth deserved more than to be reduced to the role of go-between. Instead, Ryan just opted for trite predictability,

"Thanks for coming down here," he said, genuinely meaning it, despite the banality of his words.

"No problem." replied Seth, clearly pleased to hear them. He smiled briefly at Ryan before leaving him alone.

Ryan burrowed into his pillow, seeking comfort as he tried to ignore the dull ache of his bruised ribs and the increasingly frequent stabs of pain radiating down his arm. More than ever, he just wanted to go home, wherever that was. He didn't want to be here, again. He wanted his mother to be here, to stroke his hair out of his eyes like she had when he'd been sick when he was little; he wanted to listen to her telling him things would be okay. He didn't even care if she was sober or not. He wanted his brother back; he wanted to be able to mess about on the beach or play at tinkering cars like he knew what he was doing. He wanted to be back in Chino, hanging out with Theresa, when their as yet uncomplicated friendship meant long bike rides down to the park with her teaching him Spanish and laughing at his bad pronunciation. He wanted to be still living a life where his dad was his hero and he didn't have to rely on the kindness of strangers to get by. He wanted to be seventeen, an architect, an optimist. Most of all, he didn't want to be alone anymore.

Ryan heard the door open, but didn't look up. Even though he knew was being rude, he really wasn't in the mood to make small talk with a nurse, Ed, or anyone else. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so lonely and his heart ached almost as heavily as his mangled arm.

"I know I'm probably the last person you want to see right now," said Sandy, his voice burdened with nervous hesitation, making Ryan turn to look towards the door. Sandy was lingering uncertainly on the threshold, looking almost as apprehensive as Ryan felt.

"And I wouldn't blame you. But Seth said you were awake. I just wanted to see for myself. You look..." Sandy trailed off, searching for the right words, "... A lot better," he said finally. Ryan remained quiet, not wanting to upset him again, unaware that the reasons for Sandy's silence were the same. After an excruciatingly long moment of pained silence, the older man gathered his courage and spoke,

"Ryan, I am so sorry. For not being there for you when you needed us, for not insisting on coming with you yesterday and God, for yelling at you; I should never have said what I did last night, any of it. I do want to know more about you, but only because I want to help make your life better." Sandy stopped suddenly and laughed awkwardly a little at the unintentional irony, "Great start, huh?"

Seeing Sandy smiling worriedly at him, relief and self-loathing washed over Ryan in a sudden tidal wave of emotion.

"I'm so glad you're here," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"Hey," said Sandy, moving across the room. He sat down beside Ryan and instinctively reached out to touch the boy's hair as he had done with Seth only last night, "It's alright," he said comfortingly, as he stroked it softly, unaware just how much this small gesture of comfort meant to the boy lying beside him.

"Everything is so messed up," said Ryan, feeling the inevitable tears prickling in his eyes, "I just want everything to be easy for once and it never is. I feel like the world's just moving on without me, like everyone else belongs to it and is happy and I'm just in the way all the time and I'd don't know how I can make things better, make me better." He closed his eyes momentarily, letting the tears fall, "And I know that's not true, but it just feels that way sometimes, even most of the time, and I am so tired. I'm just so tired of being confused all the time, of trying to work it out by myself. I don't want to do it anymore; I don't. All I want is to fit and I'm trying so hard to and I can't keep doing it over and over, I can't, I'm so tired and it's just too difficult."

"I know it is Ryan," said Sandy, softly, equally surprised and relieved by Ryan's unintentional outpouring of raw emotion, "But you do belong. You belong with us. And everything is going to be fine. I promise. From now on, your life is going to be better, no more worrying. Second star on the right and straight on 'til morning."

Sandy took a handkerchief from his pocket and gently wiped away Ryan's tears from his swollen and bruised face.

"It's clean, I promise," Ryan smiled a little, not believing him for a second, but feeling too emotionally drained to care or protest. For the first time in weeks, he felt safe. He wanted to go back to sleep, but he felt like he owed Sandy more than that.

"Sorry," he said, attempting to sniff through his still blocked nose.

"For what?" replied Sandy, "We all have our off days, Ryan. Even me."

Ryan smiled, grateful for his understanding, "You know," he ventured as Sandy as he folded the handkerchief and tucked it back in his pocket, "I kind of violated my probation yesterday."

"Which is stupid, but fixable," replied Sandy breezily.

"Really?" said Ryan, surprised by Sandy's nonchalance.

"Well, I wasn't planning on telling anyone. Were you?" asked Sandy, unconcerned.

"Well, no. I guess not. Except you and Kirsten," he said. Sensing Sandy's skepticism, Ryan added sheepishly, "Probably." Seeing Sandy raise his eyebrows in doubt, he elaborated further, "Not. But I would have felt bad about it," he said truthfully.

"Now that I believe," said Sandy, his tone suddenly becoming more serious, "But Ryan, I am telling you now that handling stolen goods is not something you will ever do again either in my sight or out of it, no matter what the circumstances, are we clear?"

"Absolutely. Sorry."

"Don't be sorry, be law abiding. I mean it."

"Yes, Sir," said Ryan, sincerely.

"Okay. That's that sorted." Sandy sat back in his chair again, the tension slowly beginning to leave his body for the first time since his arrival at the hospital late last night. Ryan looked shattered and Sandy could tell he was trying to stay awake for his benefit.

"You should get some more sleep, before Seth wakes up properly and reaches full speed."

"Yeah," said Ryan before rolling on to his back and closing his eyes hopefully. Truth be told, he would have welcomed sleep, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his arm and ribs were going to keep him vulnerable to Seth's verbal assault. Hearing the door open, Ryan opened his eyes and looked over with Sandy to see if the yammerer in question had returned, relaxing when he saw Ed entering the room, carrying a blanket.

"Hey there," Ed greeted Ryan warmly, as he crossed over to Ryan, moving round the opposite side of the bed to Sandy. "Look who's up and ignoring medical advice again," he said, nodding towards the oxygen mask that Ryan had once more discarded, as he unfolded the blanket and spread it over him.

"I'm fine," said Ryan, as if daring Ed to suggest otherwise.

"Is he this stubborn at home?" said Ed, taking his stethoscope from round his neck and warming it routinely on his hands.

"You have no idea," replied Sandy, only to receive the same narrow stare from Ryan.

"Slowly, breathe in and out for me Ryan," said Ed, cheerfully pretending not to notice the daggers shooting from Ryan's eyes as he complied, "Good." He said finally, straightening up and to Ryan's relief tidying the mask away again. "No crackles, no wheezes."

"Told you," said Ryan, channeling his inner five-year-old.

"Yeah, you did," replied Ed unperturbed, "And before you go home, you can tell me a proper history. The one I've been working from has one or two gaps."

"So I can go home soon?" said Ryan, not missing a beat.

"I want you to eat something first. And before that, you should get some more sleep. This will help," he said, taking a small bottle of medicine and a syringe from his pocket and loading it up.

"Welcome to the world of Demerol, my friend," quipped Ed, as he slid the syringe into the port on Ryan's I.V. and depressed the plunger, "It'll take the edge of the pain for a while, let you get some rest."

"Sure," replied Ryan, feeling himself begin to float away almost immediately. He looked up at the ceiling, imagining the hundreds of tiny holes as dark stars in a cream colored sky. Closing his eyes again, letting sleep finally take him away, Ryan heard Sandy whisper softly, echoing his thoughts,

"Second star on the right and straight on 'til morning."

* * *

Ta da! Next stop, Ryan / Seth time.


	8. Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: The end is nigh-ish.

* * *

Ryan stared at the ceiling, his boredom and impatience growing in direct proportion to the constant ache in his side. The dilapidated clock on the wall was creeping ever closer towards noon; he'd slept, he'd eaten a suspiciously lumpy and disturbingly vibrant bowl of red Jell-O, a nurse had liberated him from the I.V. and other medical crap and he had absolutely no intention of staying here a second longer than he had to. If it weren't for his distinct lack of clothes, Ryan would have been wondering through the corridors in search of an exit fifteen minutes ago, but he'd had a scoot around the room and there was no sign of them. Now clothes and no doubt a final friendly, probably embarrassing chat with Ed was all that stood between Ryan and a friendly, probably embarrassing chat with Sandy, Kirsten and possibly Seth, but at least it would be back at the homestead, instead of in weird smelling room with curtains from the land that taste forgot.

Ryan tried to ignore the increasingly irritating tick of the clock as he waited. He had a bizarre yet strong urge to literally twiddle his thumbs, which would be fine except for the fact that his left was trapped in the huge orange cast. It had been barely twelve hours since he'd had it, most of which he'd been asleep, but it was already getting on his nerves and going on past experience it would probably be at least six weeks before he could lose it. At least when he'd broken his foot it hadn't made much of an impact and he'd gotten so zippy on his crutches that he could even play soccer, after a fashion. Now he looked like Robocop and couldn't even scratch his nose. This sucked.

All of his life Ryan had hated waiting, but hanging around hospitals had to be at the top of his list. Seth had disappeared on a mysterious errand and Ryan had insisted he'd be fine whilst Kirsten and Sandy grabbed some breakfast from the cafeteria. Kirsten in particular looked more than a little rough around the edges. Ryan suspected that despite everything that had happened, ironically he'd probably had more sleep than any of them since last night. And he was still pretty tired. It'd been so long since he'd had any trouble with the whole asthma thing, he'd forgotten how exhausting it could be when it flared up. He hoped it wasn't going to be a regular fixture from now, though he doubted it would be; including last night he could count the number of times it had troubled him on one hand. And maybe a finger or two on the other. Despite that, Ryan had a strong suspicion that Kirsten and Sandy were going to take a little more convincing. That was if they ever re-emerged from the cafeteria. Given his run-in with the radioactive Jell-O, there was a strong possibility that they wouldn't. As if sensing his thoughts of home, the door to his room swung open.

"Dude, move on over; casa Cohen has a new resident champion and it is I," said Seth as he barged cheerfully in to the room, carrying a pair of shopping bags in one hand and Ryan's battered sneakers in the other.

"I come bearing clothes," he said triumphantly, dropping the bags on the bed and the shoes on the floor.

"Awesome," said Ryan enthusiastically as he pulled himself to a sitting position. He looked at the Gap and Old Navy bags on the bed. "Hey, what happened to my clothes?" he asked Seth, a little puzzled.

"They've gone to the great cotton field in the sky," he answered, "I asked, but they kinda had to cut them off you." Seeing Ryan's face fall, Seth added, "Although I do have these," retrieving Ryan's watch, choker and leather wrist band from his pocket and placing them on the bed.

"Cool. Thanks man."

"No problemo. So, I went shopping."

"In Chino? Where?" said Ryan, amused by the notion of Seth fending for himself in the wild.

"Well, I may have made a little diversion," admitted Seth, knowing full well what Ryan was thinking, "I went to a mall, about twenty minutes from here, hence the longitude. But!" he continued buoyantly, "I am returned, and I have pants, so we can get your street-fighter ass out of here."

He opened up the Gap bag and pulled out two loose fitting plain t-shirts, one white, one rusty red, a three pack of socks, two pairs of boxers and some khaki pants.

"Chinos for Chino," grinned Seth, pushing it.

"Thanks Newport," replied Ryan, not missing a beat, "I'll pay you back."

"Forget about it. Consider it an early Chrismukkah present."

"A whattiker?" asked Ryan, reaching for a pair of the boxers and pulling them on under the covers while Seth tactfully became very interested in the pattern on the curtains.

"All in good time, my friend, all good time. So do you think someone actually designed these or just got drunk and hurled all over them?"

"No idea," Ryan said as he reached for the chinos, pulling the tags off with his teeth, "I'm just glad to be getting out of here."

"You okay?"

"I had tubes where no man should have tubes," Ryan said as he twisted round on the bed and struggled into the pants.

"Yikes," winced Seth, turning back to Ryan again and hopping up on the bed to sit next to him. He nodded towards Ryan's cast, "So, you went for orange. I always went for yellow."

"Why yellow?" asked Ryan, as he zipped up the pants, relieved that they fit.

"Oh, you know, yellow, it's bright, sunny... And it reminded me of Summer," Seth babbled, causing Ryan to grin at his friend's unabashed geekiness. "I know. Dork. Sometimes I'd think about falling off on purpose for the sympathy vote."

Ryan looked questioningly sideways at his friend.

"Skateboarding," Seth elaborated, "In my rebellious phase I wouldn't wear wrist guards."

"You still don't," Ryan replied, his voice muffled through the red t-shirt as he bit through the tags.

"Yeah, but I'm better at it now. Two years since my last breakage. I should get a pin or something. Why orange?"

"Orange County. Chino was yellow," said Ryan as he untied his gown and let it fall.

"It's like we're twins. Next time I'll get orange."

"Or you could not fall off."

"I thought I was the dreamer."

"No, you're the weird one," said Ryan amiably, reaching for the t-shirt.

"I prefer to think of myself as eccentric. Holy crap, Ryan," said Seth suddenly, seeing the angry black-blue bruise snaking its way across his friend's ribs. Ryan looked down, a little surprised at just how gross it looked.

"Note to self, avoid crowbars," he mumbled, reaching for the red shirt.

"Yeah, sounds good," said Seth, his concern for his friend clear in his voice. Ryan kept quiet, unsure of what to say. The conversation was in danger of becoming a little heavier than he felt he could deal with right now. Almost as if he was reading Ryan's thoughts, Seth broke the silence.

"So, I hear you've met Genghis Cohen," he said, hoping he sounded sufficiently light-hearted.

"Uh-huh. Your dad was really mad," said Ryan, re-thinking his approach to the shirt as it tried to strangle him.

"You know he never meant to go off on you, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Because he feels really bad about the whole giving you an asthma attack thing, which, granted, wasn't a barrel of laughs for you either."

"It's okay, Seth. He didn't know. Besides, it pretty much surprised us both. It's not like a regular event."

"But you're okay now, right?" Seth asked, a few awkward seconds later.

"Sure," replied Ryan, reflexively, as his head finally emerged from the t-shirt. Seeing Seth's dispirited expression, he immediately felt bad. After all, he was only showing his concern. For perhaps the first time ever, Ryan made a conscious decision to be open with him and looked his friend in the eye.

"Yeah, I'm okay. Things were kinda scary, at the garage and last night. The car stuff, the bad fights, I thought I'd left that in Chino. It's just a little weird, to have someone worry about me. Before you guys, I never really had anyone watching my back, 'cept Trey. And that wasn't exactly textbook. It's just hard sometimes to figure all this new stuff out. And now the old stuff's catching up with me, it's harder," Ryan sighed and glanced down at the floor for a moment before looking back at Seth, "You know?"

"Kinda," replied Seth equally touched and flustered by Ryan's unexpected honesty, "It's sorta hard for us too. But, you know, two heads are better than one. Even if one of them's mine."

"Even then."

"And besides, you're fine now, right? I mean, you're not going to turn blue on me or anything?" he asked, only half-joking.

"Wasn't planning on it," said Ryan, glad that his honesty had not scared Seth off, "I feel better than I look."

"That's a relief, 'cause you look like crap, man. I mean, what with the two for one shiners, gout-ish nose and the bionic arm..." Seth babbled, "And I have to say that paisley gown was not a good look for you."

"Thanks, " Ryan said dryly.

"Hey! Showing compassion here," said Seth defensively.

"Yeah, it's overwhelming," Ryan teased, enjoying watching Seth squirm.

"Granted on me, it does come across as sarcasm, but still. Glad you're okay."

"Me too."

Seth and Ryan remained quiet for a moment, each content to share a small smile of understanding. Finally, Seth reached over between them to the Old Navy bag that still rested by Ryan's side and pulled out a black hooded sweatshirt.

"So, I didn't know whether to get the gray or the black, but then I thought, 'Wait up, I'm shopping for Ryan and black hides blood so much better,' so I went for the classic," he said, before biting off the tags as Ryan had with the other clothes.

"Thanks man, it's great," said Ryan reaching for it, "Hey, fleecy- nice." He threw it slightly to maneuver his right arm inside, before attempting to pull it over his head and promptly succeeded in colliding skull with cast with an audible thunk. "Ow," he grunted, inexpertly trying to rub his head with his good arm.

Instinctively, Seth hopped off the bed and moved round to Ryan's side. "Here," he said, extracting Ryan's head from the sweatshirt and helping him start over, "Let me help you." Gently, Seth slid Ryan's injured arm inside the sleeve, wiggling it up until his hand peeked out the end, before lifting the sweatshirt over Ryan's head and pulling it down, straightening out the creases.

"There you go," he said, as Ryan re-appeared before him, "Next up, socks. You want stripes, pattern or plain?" Seth asked as he opened them up.

"Stripes are good," replied Ryan, the act of letting Seth help him feeling totally natural and oddly safe.

"Stripes it is," said Seth, sitting down in the chair next to Ryan's bed and taking his left foot on his lap, "Wiggle," he instructed, pulling Ryan's sock on and then switching feet and doing the same with his right.

"Hey Ryan," said Seth, as he took the first of Ryan's shoes and slipped it on his friend's foot, "I'm not saying you have to, but you know you can talk to me about stuff if you want. The old stuff."

"Yeah, I know."

"Or the new," said Seth, reaching for the other shoe, "You know, as long as it doesn't involve watching the WB or painting each other's toenails,"

"Deal."

"Cool. All done," said Seth, standing up and joining Ryan once more on the bed. The two almost-brothers sat quietly, contentedly swinging their legs in circles. Things were looking up.

* * *

Ed headed wearily down the corridor towards Ryan's room. He had to admit there was something about this kid that had gotten to him. It wasn't just that he'd been dealt a rough hand, although he clearly had, but round here that applied to most people who came in through the door, Ed included. If he really thought about it, he suspected the real reason he'd stuck around was because he could sense that Ryan was at one of those moments were his life could go either way; keep struggling on and hope that the forks in the road become more infrequent, or just give up and give in to a life where dreams dried up like the proverbial sun-baked raisin. Even in the few short hours he'd known him, Ed could see how hard things were for Ryan right now, and how many people wanted to make things better for him, despite the odds.

Problem was, it was probably going to get a lot worse for Ryan before it got better. Even though it would be another six months before he officially graduated, Ed had already seen it dozens of times before. Kids like Ryan, coming through the doors on a regular basis that were too often in the wrong place at the wrong time, and each time they arrived with fewer people to hold their hand and a little less hope in their eyes. But somehow Ryan had managed to find himself with a shot, a real shot at breaking out of the circle and really making something of himself, just like the man who'd stayed up all night holding his hand. Ed was determined to do the best he could to make sure that if, or more likely, when things got bad again for Ryan, that man would still be there.

* * *

Sandy waved as Kirsten's taxi pulled out of the car lot. As much as she wanted to stay, truth was, she hadn't felt as hungover as this since her college days and she hadn't drunk nearly as much last night as she had done at a average dorm party. Still, it had been made obvious as she and Sandy had visited the first the cafeteria to get some breakfast and then the ladies where he'd held her hair back for her as she'd thrown it all back up again that her wild child nights were over. Hence, loading her up in a taxi to get back home to shower, change and sober up a little before Sandy and the kids came home. The last thing Ryan needed right now was another drunken parent. Kirsten wondered when she'd got so old; Seth had grown up before she'd barely had time to notice it, particularly in the last few months. She still found it hard to believe that she was old enough to have a sixteen-year-old child and now somehow she had two.

Ryan had definitely brought out the best in Seth, his recent Casanova tendencies notwithstanding; somewhere beneath the comic books, video games, the sarcasm and the pop-culture cluttered rhetoric, for a long time there had been had a friendly, considerate and surprisingly mature teenager trying to get out. Kirsten had no doubt that if asked, Ryan and Seth would probably have thought of Ryan as the big brother in their quasi-sibling relationship. After all, on the surface, it made sense; Ryan had a wider range of life experience, a self-reliance and highly over-developed sense of responsibility, but Kirsten knew better. Ryan was what he was because he had to be, and it had always been that way, not because he'd matured into it; before you could be an adult, first you had to be a child and Kirsten didn't think he ever had been, not properly. But Seth was helping him tap into it.

Seth was not the only person in the house to eavesdrop, and often she had listened in to the two of them talking; hearing Seth asking after him, how soccer was going, giving him tips on how to survive Harbor, filling him in on which teachers he absolutely should not get on the wrong side of and which he could impress no end with a little extra reading. Every time she stumbled on one of their conversations, it made her feel regret that Seth had never had the chance to really be a big brother. He'd have done a hell of a lot better job than she had with Hailey, or Marissa was doing with Caitlin and frankly she thought it would be a miracle if that kid came out the other side of puberty without some serious issues. But more than regret, Kirsten felt guilty; that it took her so long to trust Ryan, to realize that like Seth, he was just a kid trying to figure out how to fit, only in substantially more difficult circumstances. Tonight wasn't helping any.

Closing her eyes to shut out the spinning world, Kirsten made a silent promise with herself to make more of an effort where Ryan was concerned. For too long now she'd been content to let Seth and Sandy lead the way, whilst she'd remained in the background. And she could make excuses for it, or she could just admit that she needed to do more, whether it be going with him to see his brother, or offering advice about the mysterious mind of the teenaged girl, or just talking to him more about stuff. When Dawn had left Ryan, she had said it was because that way he ends up with a real mom. As soon as he got home, Kirsten was going to do her level best to prove it.

* * *

"Hmm," said Ed, his face an inscrutable mask as he examined the peak flow meter in his hand, "Last time," he said handing it back to Ryan.

"What do you want from me, blood?" said Ryan, in mock exasperation, taking it.

"I already got that last night, replied Ed, ignoring him. There was another whooshing noise as Ryan complied and blew in to the meter again, still managing to scowl. From his vantage point of sitting next to Seth on the other bed, Sandy couldn't help but smile at Ryan's sullen childishness. It was good to see he had it in him. Ryan grumpily handed the gadget back to Ed.

"Happy now?" he grunted.

"420 again. Which is not as good I'd like, but better than it was."

"What should it be?" asked Sandy, dodging a glare from Ryan.

"Roughly somewhere between 480-520. But considering your ribs and that you had two attacks in twelve hours, it's okay. Before last night, when was the last time you had an attack?" Ed asked, making a note on Ryan's chart.

"When I was twelve, maybe? Eleven? I don't remember exactly."

"Hmm," said Ed, his cynicism plain, "Do you remember why it started?"

"My mom hit me with a baseball bat," Ryan said impassively.

"No way," exclaimed Seth, his aimless leg swinging coming to an abrupt halt. He looked over at Ryan, who shrugged.

"She thought I was a burglar. And she was kind of drunk."

"And before that?" Ed breezed on.

"I'd pretty much grown out of it before I left junior school."

"Ever brought to the emergency room?"

"Once, when I lived in Fresno, I was like six," said Ryan. Seeing Ed's inquisitive expression he sighed and elaborated, "My Dad was arrested for armed robbery and I had bronchitis. Stressful day. It wasn't that bad really, my brother panicked."

"Other than stress anything else make you wheeze?"

"Sometimes if the pollen's really high or I get a really bad cold, but that's like never. Nothing else. And last night was a one-off, I was wound up kinda tight."

"Yeah, Dad's really obnoxious like that," Seth chirped, his eyes twinkling roguishly.

"Thanks, Seth, that really helps with the guilt," Sandy said, playfully bumping his shoulder into his son's.

"Seth, shut up," said Ryan, only half-joking, before turning back to Ed, "It's only been when things have been really bad," he explained, "I'd kind of been bottling some stuff up for a while, it wasn't anyone's fault."

"You exercise?" asked Ed, ignoring the half-hearted bitch-slapping going on around him.

"Soccer, running from Seth. Never problems. Ever." Ryan replied, with a stony glare at Sandy, as if daring him to suggest he should take it easy.

"You smoke?"

"Uh, not officially," Ryan admitted sheepishly as his stony glare was returned by Sandy, accompanied by a full display of looming eyebrow action, "But it never made a difference."

"Well, I am officially ordering you to quit," said Ed authoritatively.

"Me too," said Sandy, eyebrows converging, "No excuses."

"Busted," mocked Seth, prompting Sandy to playfully scuff him across the top of his head, "Ow!" he exclaimed before getting the hint and shutting up.

"Considering your history, I don't think there's any need for you to take regular preventative medication, but that'll be down to your family doctor to determine. In the meantime," Ed said, writing out a note on his pad, "here's a prescription for Proventil, it's a reliever inhaler; I don't care how good you're feeling, you take it with you whenever you go out, just in case."

"Whatever," said Ryan, watching suspiciously as Ed wrote out more prescriptions.

"Don't argue. This was a wake up call, kid. You're sixteen going on seventeen, not seventy. You feeling tight-chested, or wheezy, or short of breath for whatever reason use the inhaler. You feeling stressed, talk to someone about it. Pretending you're fine won't help either situation. Don't make me come up to Newport to kick your ass; I don't have a car and the bus takes forever."

"So I can go now?" Ryan said, his patience well and truly dissipated.

"You can go now. To bed. Directly, not passing go, not collecting $200, you get me?"

"Not a problem," said Ryan, surprising the others, "I'm kinda beat."

Seth jumped off the bed and pulled his dad to his feet, "I'm sure I've got a movie or seven hundred that we could watch. Or I just got Driver three... huh," he said, looking at Ryan's immense cast, "I'm guessing Playstation's out."

"Guess so. Unless I'll learn to play with my feet."

"It's not as hard as you think," Ed interjected, only to receive a raised eyebrow from Ryan, "When I said I'd been there myself I wasn't kidding."

"Or you could always embrace a good old-fashioned book," chipped in Sandy.

"Yeah, Dad, whatever," Seth teased, "I'll pull out my Sega Megadrive, we'll have Sonic fun."

"Cool," Ryan replied, itching to leave. Sensing it, Ed handed the bundle of prescriptions to Sandy.

"Inhaler, antibiotics, painkillers, sleeping tablets for tonight and tomorrow," he said, pretending not to notice as Ryan rolled his eyes, "I've made arrangements so you can go to HOAG out patients for your stitches and their fracture clinic for your arm. I got an appointment for you in four weeks time; with any luck, they'll reduce the cast to below your elbow. Yeah," he said, seeing Ryan's face light up, "I thought that might make you happy. If your fingers get blue or tingly before that, get yourself down there. You don't want bits of you dropping off on top of everything else."

"Does it have to be this big?" Ryan asked Ed pleadingly, not caring how whiny he sounded, "I promise to be careful, take it easy." Seth and Sandy snorted unanimously, dropping into silence when Ryan shot the briefest of dirty looks in their direction, "I will. Please?"

"Give it up, kid," said Ed, not swayed, "It was a simple break, but high up. You were lucky not to need surgery. And you've got hairlines in two of the bones in your hand. The longer cast will stabilize both. As will this," taking a sling from the chair by the bed and slipping it round Ryan's shoulders to take the weight of the cast, ignoring Ryan's glacial scowl as he did so, "Put it this way, you wear the sling, your bones knit faster and maybe in four weeks time you get thumb and elbow back."

"Lucky me," said Ryan, hoping off the bed. After a moment's hesitation, he offered his hand to Ed, "Thanks, you know, for... well, everything."

"You're welcome. Do me a favor and don't come back?" said Ed kindly, shaking the boy's hand.

"We'll do our best," said Sandy following Ryan's example. Ryan made for the door, with Sandy hustling Seth after him, as dragged his heels, looking uncertainly as though he wanted to speak. After a moment he stopped and turned to Ed.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked awkwardly.

"Sure," replied Ed, slightly unnerved by the way Seth was staring at his head.

"About the hair; from one curly fry to another, how do you get your hair not to frizz so much? 'Cause I've tried everything, mousse, gel, mud, wax, some weird gum, I draw the line at straighteners, but otherwise I'm open to anything, magic potions, naked bacchanals, anything. Help me."

Ed couldn't help but be amused by Seth's bumbling, "I wish I could," he answered kindly, "But I just got older. Sorry."

"Never mind," Seth sighed, "Thanks anyway."

"You're welcome."

"See, this is why you're the weird one," said Ryan to Seth as he reached for the door, pausing as his gaze fell on the cracked clock on the wall, "I can't believe it's nearly one o' clock already."

"Cool, lunchtime," said Seth, his thoughts already turning to take-out.

"Any turkey left?" Ryan asked hopefully.

"Not exactly," said Sandy, "It had a slightly worse Thanksgiving than you did."

"What did you do, set fire to it?" asked Ed cheerfully as he followed them out of the room and down the corridor.

"Something like that," replied Sandy.

Ryan shrugged, before something in his memory triggered, "Hey, I thought you were off at eight," he asked Ed.

"I was," Ed answered, "Thought I'd stick around," he said, stopping outside the door to the staff lounge. Seeing Ryan's expression soften he sighed, "What can I say? I'm a sucker for a happy ending."

"Give me time," said Sandy, mussing up Ryan and Seth's hair with a grin, before wrapping an arm around each of them and hugging them close, "Happily ever afters all round."

* * *

So there you go. Upward spirals, bright golden hazes, shiny stars and happy endings are all hopefully on the horizon. Well nearly, there's at least one more chapter to go. Possibly one and an epilogue. A few shout outs:

**Twoppers**: Through your reviews and just being around your collective giddy creativity have re-awakened my writing. It has been dormant for too long, so thank you.

**TeacherTam**: I'm glad I'm not misrepresenting something that has obviously had a big impact on your life. Fortunately not mine. If I've swayed, please let me know.

**Miss Suga**: For helping me define Ed. The minute you mentioned his hair, his character became so much clearer to me!


	9. Chapter Nine

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: It's another yeti of a chapter. I did say the end was nigh-ish. It's now more nigh than ish.

* * *

Kirsten drummed her fingers on the work surface as she tried to gather her thoughts. Seth and Sandy should have been back with Ryan by now and although she knew that it was traffic not tragedy this time that was keeping them, she could feel herself getting more twitchy with each passing minute. The phone didn't have seemed to have stopped ringing from the moment she had walked in the door an hour and a half earlier, which hadn't particularly helped her gradually easing hangover but had least taken her mind off it temporarily. So far she'd taken calls from Trey and an inordinately feisty girl by the name of Theresa, both of whom seemed to have the inside scoop on Ryan's exploits.

When Kirsten agreed to accept the collect charges on Trey's call for the second time in two days, she was fully prepared to let him have it with both barrels, until she heard the lingering silence at the other end of the phone. When Trey eventually spoke, it was with a voice so small and uncertain that reminded her so much of Ryan in dejected mode it was almost eerie. When she'd told him about what had happened to his little brother, she could have sworn that he was close to tears and barely keeping a lid on his emotions. It had struck her for the first time how hard it must be for Trey to having to surrender Ryan to her Sandy and Seth; to rely on the kindness of strangers for his keeping. As much as Hailey could exasperate her and as much as she'd sometimes wished she had remained an only child, Kirsten loved her little sister unconditionally. Sure, she wished she grow up a little, or call more often, or not take so much pleasure in embracing the role of baby of the family, but she couldn't switch off her affection for her and doubted she ever would be able to. And that was just fine. It made for the occasional restless night, but just as with caring for Seth, Sandy and now Ryan too, looking out for Hailey was one responsibility Kirsten was content to call her own.

Kirsten would have laid good money down that Trey felt the same way about his little brother and despite the initial animosity she had felt towards him, somehow she'd ended up reassuring him that Ryan was going to be fine and that she would encourage him to call Trey at his first opportunity. Twenty minutes later and the luxury of space to think had not altered her intentions of keeping her promise. Theresa, however, had been a little harder to satisfy and although her concern was clearly heart-felt, she had sworn to call back every few hours until she had spoken to Ryan. Although Kirsten suspected it was because Theresa didn't trust Ryan to call her, rather than not trusting Kirsten to pass on her message, there was no doubt in Kirsten's mind that Theresa would hold true to her word.

Despite her determination to be positive, Kirsten was nevertheless worried about what the political ramifications of the last twenty-four hours were going to be. Quite apart from Ryan's physical condition, she was also concerned about how the community she called home was going to react. Not for herself, of course, but despite Julie Cooper's best efforts the citizens of Newport had finally caught on to the fact that Ryan wasn't going anywhere, and that the Cohens were not perhaps as straight laced as the Caleb Nichol would have them believe. Oh, God, her dad was going to go ballistic. And just when he'd finally started occasionally referring to Ryan by his name instead of merely "the boy", as if he were a school project instead of a sixteen-year-old with no family and no home to call his own. Kirsten didn't think she could bear to let Ryan be the subject of idle gossip of Newport's self selected aristocracy once again, not when he had worked so hard not to make ripples for herself and Sandy. Kirsten sighed and made a conscious effort to snap out of it. She had learned a long time ago that ultimately, people thought what they wanted to think and there was very little you do about it except keep an open mind and try and encourage others to do the same. She'd deal with the Stepford Wives if or when Ryan's misadventures became an issue, for now, she shifted her focus back to her family.

As if on cue, the front door opened and the sound of Seth's incessant chatter drifted in through the hallway to the kitchen.

"Honey, I'm home," Sandy's voice rang out, as she came out to meet them.

"Hi there," she said, greeting her husband with a kiss, "I was beginning to wonder where you guys had got to."

"Hey, don't look at me," said Seth, ducking simultaneously with Ryan as his mother ruffled their hair in hello, "I said we should just click our heels three times, but you know Dad; can't resist an opportunity to take the scenic route."

"Seth," said Sandy, his voice betraying his weariness as he set Ryan's collection of pharmaceuticals down on the table, "Can you take it down a notch?"

"Sorry," Seth replied, recognizing his father's fatigue and settling down. Sandy sighed.

"It's fine. Just been a long day."

Ryan plunked himself down in a chair at the kitchen table, "You're telling me."

"You okay, Ryan?" asked Kirsten, trying not to sound like a clucking hen.

"Fine. Just... tired," he said, slightly embarrassed by having everyone's attention on him.

"So, round here we have a tradition," said Sandy, breaking the quiet, "Whenever a wounded hero- or heroine- returns to the manor, they get to pick what we have for dinner. Your choice kiddo."

The kiddo in question looked down, his face growing hot as he sensed the Cohen's eyes on him, "Uh I don't know," he said, mentally kicking himself for getting squirmy over something as simple as dinner.

"Seriously," said Sandy, trying to sell Ryan on the idea, "Anything you want. Except Kirsten's cooking."

"Hey!" she exclaimed indignantly.

"Do you want to cook, Mom?" asked Seth pointedly.

"Not particularly," Kirsten admitted before adding, "But I would. If Ryan would like me to. Wounded hero's prerogative."

Ryan looked skeptical. "This is tradition?" he asked, appreciating the sentiment, but seriously doubting that any of the Cohens had ever smashed themselves up as badly as he had.

"You've hooked up with quite a klutzy family," Sandy said, trying to keep the mood light.

"Hey Dad, you know these things come in threes," teased Seth.

"Don't say that," added Kirsten before turning to Ryan, "So what's it going to be?"

"Something I can eat with one hand," he replied after a moment's thought. Under no circumstances was he going to suffer the humiliation of someone helping him cut up his food; Seth would be teasing him for months.

"Are you sure?" Kirsten asked, " 'Cause I could order from that Spanish place you like..." trailing off as Ryan shrugged amiably, "Seriously, that's all? No other requests?"

"Nah, really," he said with a grin in Seth's direction, "I just think I'd like to eat until I pass out."

"Done," said Sandy relieved Ryan seemed to be in good spirits.

"I feel so proud," proclaimed Seth, clasping a hand to his heart.

"'Scuse me!" Ryan said, yawning spectacularly as a wave of tiredness washed over him.

"Dude," said Seth, as he grabbed a glass of water from the side, "You've been asleep like all morning."

"I know," Ryan said, his weariness suddenly catching up with him, "Do you guys mind if I hit the sack for a bit?"

"Not at all," said Sandy, suppressing a yawn of his own, "In fact, I think I might do the same."

"Cool," said Ryan standing up slowly, wincing slightly at the ache in his arm and side.

"Do you want to crash on the sofa?" asked Kirsten, suspecting he wouldn't but privately hoping he would.

"Nah, I'm good," he said as he gathered up his prescriptions and slipped them inside his sling to carry them, "I just want to sleep in my own bed, you know?"

"Sure," replied Kirsten, "Just shout if you need anything."

"I will. Can I?" Ryan asked Seth, as he swiped his friend's glass of water from the side.

"And so it begins," Seth said sighing melodramatically.

"I'm taking that as a yes," Ryan said, smiling at Seth's theatrics, "We can talk about backrubs later."

"Still going for the funny. It's good to have goals," Seth mocked good-naturedly as Ryan headed out towards the pool house.

After a moment, he stopped and turned and looked at the three people who made Newport home. With all the sincerity he could muster, he simply said, "Thank you," before adding, "I'm really sorry."

Seth and Kirsten let Sandy answer for all three of them, "It's okay, Ryan. Just get some rest."

Ryan raised a small smile in response before departing, as appreciative as ever for Sandy's ability to read him in a way no one else ever could.

"Well, I'm going to bed," Sandy said finally, breaking the silence that had settled on the scene, "You coming, honey?" he asked Kirsten as he headed out of the kitchen and towards his welcoming bed.

"Oh, absolutely," Kirsten replied, finally surrendering to the notion of sleep that had been wanting to claim her for the last eighteen hours. Seth took one look at his exhausted parents making their weary journey upstairs and yawned.

"Who am I kidding?" he muttered to himself before trudging after them, as visions of sugar plums began to waltz through his mind.

* * *

Five and a half hours later a slightly more wrinkled version of Ryan emerged from the pool house to find Seth and Kirsten preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"Hey," he said, pulling up a chair to the table.

"Look who's up," said Kirsten as she inefficiently chopped peppers into doorstep wedge circles, "How you feeling?"

"Better, thanks" replied Ryan, surveying the pair's culinary operation with interest, "We having pizza?" he asked hopefully.

"That okay?" asked Kirsten, her face screwed up in concentration as she tackled a fresh pepper with enthusiasm.

"Sounds great," he answered, realizing that mutant Jell-O aside he hadn't eaten since yesterday lunchtime.

"I hope you're hungry, man," said Seth, spreading tomato sauce carefully on pre-made bases as though he was a master cake decorator, "It's a whole one-handed feast. We've got pizzas, garlic bread, Dad's even prepared on some of his famous barbecue wings, it's going to be awesome."

"Sounds great," said Ryan, already beginning to suffer from phantom fragrance syndrome in anticipation.

"And there's dessert," Kirsten said proudly, as she finished chopping the peppers into more or less even slices and started on a pile of mushrooms, "I was going to make you a cake, but I decided you've been through enough so I just got in some doughnuts."

"Ohhhh, doughnuts," Ryan groaned, wickedly impersonating Homer Simpson.

"And lots of them," said Kirsten, laughing at his impression.

"Any apple filled?" asked Ryan hopefully before swiping a mushroom

"And raspberry jelly for Seth," Kirsten confirmed.

"World's best mom," said Ryan, unthinkingly, turning seven shades of scarlet as Kirsten paused in her chopping for the briefest of moments.

"Amen to that," said Seth, sensing Ryan's embarrassment and looping one arm around his mother in an affectionate hug, "She's a keeper. Heads up," he said, throwing another mushroom at Ryan.

"Hey, broken nose!" said Ryan as it bounced off his face.

"Seth, play nice," Kirsten admonished her son, smiling as Ryan teased him by pulling a wounded puppy look.

"Yes, Nanny," Seth replied, in his best Muppet Babies imitation.

"Can I help?" asked Ryan getting to his feet.

"No," said Kirsten firmly, "You just sit there. Relax."

"Yeah, you can do the dishes," Seth teased, ducking as Kirsten threw a mushroom at him, "Hey!"

"Where's Sandy?" asked Ryan, relieved to have a little normalcy after the last twenty-four hours.

"He had a few errands to run," said Kirsten opening a packet of pre-grated mozzarella cheese, "He should be back soon."

"So as promised, I pulled out my Megadrive, we can do retro this evening. Release a bunch a furry critters from the clutches of an evil scientist," said Seth scattering the cheese flamboyantly over the pizzas.

"We can try," said Ryan, scratching his cast in the hope that it would somehow cure the monstrous itch irritating his hand beneath it, grunting in frustration when it inevitably didn't.

"Itchy?" asked Kirsten somewhat redundantly, observing him.

"You have no idea," said Ryan, forcing himself to stop.

"Oh, I really do. I dislocated my knee skiing a few years back. I had a cast all the way up my leg and I thought I was going to kill someone."

"She was a nightmare," said Seth, with a distinct lack of sympathy, as Ryan smiled with the thought of Kirsten being forced to take it easy for six weeks, "Never stopped whining. Dad and I were this close to having her committed."

"Hey! At least I never attacked myself with a buzz saw in shop class," Kirsten shot back.

"There was no attacking. There was possible a little impatience on my part... you make me sound like Ed Gein," Seth feigning exasperation, "And just so you know, it was a beautiful job, I got the cast off without a drop of blood being spilled."

"More luck than judgement," Kirsten said, turning to Ryan who was looking increasingly bemused, "He wanted to go on Harbor's freshman white-water rafting trip, two weeks after coming off his skateboard. Ended up with a cast all summer, instead of six weeks."

"Totally worth it. I was cool for like a whole five days," said Seth finishing off the pizzas, before adding proudly, "They called me Psy-Cohen."

"Better than Chino," said Ryan equally wowed and worried by Seth's exploits. Never mind a klutzy family, sometimes the Cohens bordered on the certifiable.

"Or Kiki," grunted Kirsten as she put the food under a covered net. As much fun as she was having, now dinner was all ready to go, she could no longer postpone the inevitable. "Seth, why don't you go set the table," she asked rhetorically.

"Because I'm having too much fun at your expense. Hey, Ryan, did you know that Mom got wasted last night?" he joked.

"You did?" asked Ryan, not knowing if Seth was kidding or not. Raising Kirsten's heckles further, Seth crossed his eyes and mimed vomiting, convincing him.

"Hey, Ryan, did you know that Seth got seduced and dismissed by two girls last night?" she said, fighting fire with fire and stony look.

"You did?" Ryan repeated, this time directing his question at Seth.

"Yeah..." Seth said sheepishly, hoping that would suffice. Ryan raised his eyebrows expectantly. After a moment, Seth gave in.

"While you were getting your James Dean on yesterday you missed quite the soiree; Anna and Summer came over, things got a little a little triangular in the romance department and they dumped me. I know, I know, je suis un idiot," he added, ducking Ryan's sidelong glance, "But you know as much as I'd love to walk you though the excruciating details, I have a table to set, so..." he said, departing to the dining room.

* * *

Left alone in the kitchen, Kirsten and Ryan regarded each other, awkwardly both knowing what conversation they needed to have and each unsure as to how to broach it. Finally, Kirsten's maternal instincts took over.

"It's beautiful out. Why don't we sit by the pool for a while?" she suggested, "The fresh air will be good for you."

"Sure," said Ryan, following her outside, squinting in the sunshine as he gingerly joined her at the patio table, knowing what was coming.

"So," Ryan said, awkwardly half-joking, "I guess you want to have 'the talk', huh?" He hoped that it would go better the last one, although the odds for that were certainly in his favor.

Kirsten had long ago learned to read Ryan's moods. Car-theft not withstanding, he was an honest person and more often than not this was reflected in a simple incapability to conceal his feelings. There was his usual state, what Kirsten privately nicknamed the Hockney; bright and easy-going, most often seen when he was in the company of Seth, lazing around the pool on loungers, or joining forces to annihilate fantastical beasts in some video game. This was almost indeterminable from Ryan's another of Ryan's moods, the Rothko; where he was pretending to be bright and easy-going, but was actually feeling quite downcast and wanted to be left alone. It had taken a while, but Kirsten had finally learned that Ryan's Hockney and Rothko could only be differentiated only by an inordinate fascination with his feet. Next up was Picasso and generally occurred when Ryan was homesick, feeling out of place or needed advice but unsure where to seek it. If Kirsten or Sandy didn't spot Picasso, as Sandy had failed to last night, it was often followed by Ryan's other mood, the Pollock, and then things got a bit messy. It had taken a while, but Kirsten believed she had got her ability to interpret Ryan's moods and understand his feelings down. Unfortunately, his thoughts still remained a mystery.

"I know you covered a lot of this with Sandy," said Kirsten, putting Ryan out of his misery, "So I'll make it quick. One question, honest answer."

" 'Kay," he said trying to sound more assured than he felt.

"Why did you do it, Ryan?" Kirsten asked gently.

Even though he had guessed what she had been about to ask him, Kirsten's question still stumped him. How could he possibly explain his relationship with Trey when he didn't even understand it himself?

"Because... I owed him," Ryan said eventually, making the realization only as the words tumbled from him. He looked over at Kirsten, trying to read her expression for clues, but he couldn't fathom it. Ryan made a mental note to himself never to play cards with her before continuing his jumbled explanation.

"I know you guys don't really like Trey, and I guess that's okay. Well, it's not, really, but I don't blame you," he said honestly, allowing himself to acknowledge how much Sandy and Kirsten's disapproval of his older brother hurt him. He lost his thoughts for a moment, as tried to focus on what Kirsten had asked him before continuing.

"Thing is, he always looked out for me; even when Mom... even when things at home were really bad. And they were getting worse. When we got busted, we weren't just doing it for kicks, he was trying to teach me something. Now Trey's going to spend the next three to five years living in a room that's the same size as my bathroom. And he'll be sharing. Because of me. Because I hesitated."

Ryan picked at the slightly frayed edges of his cast, reluctant to meet Kirsten's gaze, afraid she would offer platitudes in lieu of understanding.

"Arms heal," he said quietly before looking up, "I knew what I was doing."

"Good answer," Kirsten said after what seemed an unbearably long time, surprising both Ryan and herself. There wasn't much else she could say. She looked at the boy sitting next to her; his world-weary expression, his subdued body language and tired eyes.

"You're so old, Ryan," Kirsten said, without thinking. Ryan looked at her, a little thrown by her words and she hastily clarified her thoughts, "Things have been so different for you. It's hard sometimes to remember you're only sixteen. Seth, he feels something, he thinks something, he says it. But you? You're an enigma. We got it wrong yesterday; we should have come with you to see Trey and I'm sorry we didn't."

"I wish I'd called you," Ryan said, meaning it.

"So do I. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed when I found out what happened. But mostly with us."

Kirsten's use of the word 'mostly' was like a knife to Ryan's heart. He knew within himself that he'd let her down, but to have it confirmed from her own lips hurt more than he would have believed possible.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I know, " said Kirsten, reaching out and taking his good hand in her own, "Me too."

Ryan sat quietly as she gently stroked small circles on the back of his hand with her thumb, wanting to say more, but unable to find the words. After all, Ryan had a point. She didn't like Trey. She definitely didn't like Dawn. Two days she'd given her fresh start with her son. Two whole days before abandoning him for a second time, this time not even leaving a note. Trey was the only family Ryan had left. No wonder he wanted to keep him safe no matter what the cost to himself.

"You know he called," Kirsten said, giving Ryan's a final squeeze before letting go, "Trey. I told him you'd call him back. He seems to care a lot about you."

"Yeah, he does," Ryan admitted, "His methods are a little screwy, but he'd do anything for me. I'd do anything for him."

"I think we've established that," Kirsten jested with a warm smile.

"I'll call him tomorrow. I don't think... I'm not quite ready," Ryan said, understating it. Truth was, he thought the emotional toll of talking to Trey tonight would probably land him back in the hospital.

"He'll understand," she reassured him, "I'm not too sure Theresa would," she added, amused by the way Ryan's head shot up, his eyes wide in a mixture of fear and surprise.

"Theresa? Called here?" he asked incredulously.

"Oh yes. She's... vivacious," said Kirsten with as much tact as she could muster.

"That's one word for it," Ryan said sarcastically.

"She told me to tell you that Arturo's breathing, but won't be after midnight unless she knows first hand that you are too."

"That's Theresa," Ryan smiled, wishing he could have eavesdropped on that conversation, "Subtle. I'll call her."

"I think that would be smart," Kirsten agreed. Theresa was one person from Chino she would like to have a chat with. Kirsten had a strong feeling that there wasn't a thing Ryan's feelings, thoughts, or mood-swings that Theresa didn't know. Kirsten sighed.

"So. That was 'the talk'," she said to Ryan, before adding wryly, "Was it good for you?"

"Better than Sandy's," he replied, wincing inwardly as his intended joke fell flat.

"I think this officially rates as the one of the lousiest Thanksgiving ever," Kirsten said, knowing what he was trying to do and helping him out.

"I've had worse," Ryan commented matter-of-factly.

"That's not particularly comforting, Ryan," Kirsten said, sensing he was shifting into Picasso mood again.

"That's not what I meant," Ryan said, stammering slightly, as he tried to get the words out, "I'm not a big talker."

"I'd picked up on that," Kirsten said kindly.

"If I don't tell you that stuff, it's not because I'm trying to cut you out, or because I'm in denial or anything. It's just I don't know how to. Anecdotes about holidays in the ER tend to be a real conversation stopper."

Kirsten understood how hard it was for Ryan to open up to her like this and waited patiently for him to continue, not wanting to jinx him into restless silence with an ill-timed cliché of comfort. Eventually, just as she was beginning to wonder if she'd missed her cue, he continued.

"Yesterday was horrible and not just 'cause of the all this," he said, waving a hand absently at his battered face, "But if I could go back and change it, I wouldn't. I think I kind of needed it. I miss Trey. I don't know what would have happened if we hadn't gotten caught, probably nothing good. But I can't go back to the way things were. Mom's gone. Chino's different; I think I'm different. What happened yesterday, and today, it made me appreciate what I've got. What you and Sandy and Seth have given me."

"Ryan, having you move in with us is the best thing that's happened to this family in a long time," Kirsten said without hesitation, both touched by Ryan's words and distressed at the sadness and confusion that emulated from the boy who uttered them, "We'd like to keep you in one piece."

"I'll second that," said Sandy as came over to join them, juggling a tray bearing a jug of lemonade, four glasses and an elaborately wrapped bright pink gift bag. He handed Ryan the gift bag, before kissing Kirsten hello, "Everything okay?" he asked subtly.

"Everything's fine," Kirsten said, holding a silent conference with Ryan, "We were just done."

"What's this?" asked Ryan, looking at the fancy pink bag that spewed ribbon and tissue paper. It was suspiciously heavy.

"Welcome home gift," said Sandy, pulling up a chair and pouring out the lemonade.

"For me?" he asked, not sure his return warranted the celebration that seemed to be sneaking up on him, but happy to go along with it all the same. Sandy nodded.

"Thank you," Ryan said as he attacked the ribbon with his teeth, before joking, "I should get maimed more often."

"That's not funny," lied Sandy as Seth came over, carrying a plate of chicken wings ready for grilling.

"Hey Dad, did you get it?" he asked seeing Ryan tackling the gift bag.

"I did indeed," Sandy said with a grin.

"Awesome. Project." Seth said as he fired up the grill.

"Oh, I know what this is," Kirsten said with a smile.

"Okay, now you guys are scaring me," Ryan said pulling out a bundle of tissue paper.

"Just open it," Sandy replied with a smile.

Ryan reached into the bag and pulled out two packs of nicotine gum. He looked witheringly at Sandy, "And I'm supposed to be the unfunny one round here?"

"You're welcome," Sandy said, laughing off Ryan's frosty glower, "Keep going."

Ryan dived back into the bag and pulled out a peak flow meter, "Hey, just what I always wanted!" he declared sarcastically setting it on the table next to the gum.

"I made an appointment with our family doctor for the end of the week, he wants you to keep a chart and take it with you."

"Lucky me," snarked Ryan, oddly enjoying Sandy's weird little gift package. Sometimes it was oh so clear where Seth got his nutty sense of humor.

"Hey, Ryan, you know what I was thinking?" said Seth as he spread the chicken wings across the grill, "Now that your dark wheezy secret is out in the open, this makes me the rugged one."

Ryan paused momentarily in his unwrapping to join Sandy and Kirsten in shooting Seth a skeptical glance. Seth pretended not to notice as he cheerfully continued with his cooking. "Oh yeah. I'm the tough guy in the family."

"Keep living the dream, Seth," chipped in Sandy as Ryan pulled out a tin of varnish and a thick bristled brush from the bag.

"Okay, now I'm confused," he said looking at it.

"It's a family recipe, handed down through generations," Sandy answered.

"It's varnish," deadpanned Ryan, "I have to tell you, I was kind of hoping for car keys."

"Trust me, Ryan, you're going to love it," Seth said, leaping klutzily back from the grill as the flames licked at the chicken wings.

"I'm going to have trust you on this, aren't I?" said Ryan suspiciously.

"Yes, you are," said Sandy raising a glass, "Don't worry, all will be revealed."

The smell of the Sandy's chicken wings began to float across from the grill, their warm and homely aroma filling Ryan's senses and triggering comforting memories of happier Newport family dinners past.

Kirsten handed a glass of lemonade to him and another to Seth, "To homecoming," she proposed. Ryan smiled and joined Seth and Sandy in raising his glass, a smile forming as they came together to clink their glasses.

"To homecoming."

* * *

To review, or not to review, that is the question. Brutal honesty is always appreciated.


	10. Chapter Ten

Disclaimer: The O.C. is property of Fox.  
Author's Note: So long, farewell, ourobouros, painted ponies going up and down, etc.

* * *

Ryan wiped away the condensation from his bathroom mirror and regarded his reflection. It had been two weeks since his close encounter of the crowbar kind and the bruising on his face had finally all but gone. His nose was still slightly swollen and had an odd disconnected feeling as he gave it an experimental prod, but his blackened eyes had returned to normal and if you didn't know he'd been in a fight, then chances were you'd assume that his broken arm was down to everyday teenage escapades. Of course, everyone round here knew that it was really because the hooligan from Chino with the pyromaniacal tendencies couldn't control his violent impulses, but he could live with it. His stitches were out, his ribs were healed, and after a little persuasion on Ryan's part including a promise to come back if he encountered problems, the Cohen's family doctor had given him a clean bill of health and no extra medications to deal with. Much to his relief, Ryan had been correct in his guess that the asthma wasn't going to be an issue. Aside from the occasional whistle in his breath some mornings that he'd always had, he'd been fine, and he'd had no cause to use the inhaler Ed had prescribed him other than to show the doctor he was doing it right. It had taken a few days for Sandy and Kirsten to stop looking at him like he was going to break every time he cleared his throat, or heaven forbid, coughed, but things were finally getting back to normal.

Then there was school. Despite anticipating a trial by fire, it hadn't been too much of a nightmare and after a few days off which he spent catching up with his reading, Ryan'd gone back and had now survived a whole week back at school, complete with a one-on-one with Dr Kim, full of thinly veiled displeasure.

But best of all, thanks to submitting to Seth for an afternoon's patient varnishing, Ryan didn't have to worry about his cast getting wet and with a lot of care and by taping a rubber glove over his hand he could even manage a shower. Alone. Which was an even bigger relief to him than Arturo's timely appearance at the chop shop a few weeks earlier. In fact, aside from the fact that he needed a haircut, something that Trey would no doubt tease him about later, Ryan felt pretty good.

Wiping off a few droplets of water from his cast with a towel as he went, he wandered back into his bedroom, nearly jumping out of his skin when he was met with the sight of Kirsten, her thoughts a thousand miles away as she gazed out the window, drinking coffee. An extra mug sat steaming on the kitchen counter and Ryan made a beeline for it.

"Do you guys do this to Seth as well, or is it just me you like jump start?" he asked, regaining his composure in record time as he breathed in the rich aroma. Barely a day had gone by lately when there hadn't been someone to greet him in the morning; mostly it was Sandy, but Seth, Kirsten and even Marissa had all put in appearance. It was sweet really, but unlike the Cohens, Ryan was just not a morning person and all the coffee in the world, however appreciated, wasn't going to help.

Hearing Ryan, Kirsten landed back on earth, "It's just you," she greeted him warmly, noting the towel that Ryan haphazardly folded with his teeth, "You, see you laughed at us, but admit it, us Cohens are geniuses."

Ryan smiled as he sipped at the coffee, "I'm just glad that you use your powers for good."

"Well, aside from the radioactive waste we use to power the house."

"Aside from that," said Ryan, as Kirsten's phone began to ring. Irritated, she retrieved it and took a look at the number, "Not again," she said, her irritation clear.

"Sorry; one second," she said to Ryan before answering it, "Hey Dad... no I'm fine... It's only eight forty five... No, Dad, look I told you, I'm working from home today... because I wanted to spend some time with the boys at the weekend, that's why... Hey, that's unfair."

Ryan couldn't help but the juxtaposition between the light tone of Kirsten's mismatched with her weary expression as she tried to placate her father. He tried to make himself inconspicuous as he straightened up his bed, cringing as he knocked over the bedside lamp with a clatter, startling Kirsten.

"Sorry," he whispered, setting it to rights, relieved that he hadn't chipped it.

"That's okay," she whispered back, "No, I was talking to Ryan... It's nothing. Because we're talking, or we were," she added with a frosty edge that didn't slip by Caleb undetected, "No, of course he's not... He's fine. You can talk to him if you want," she added wickedly, causing Ryan to nearly choke on his coffee, "Fine... Look, Dad, I'll stop by later, okay? I don't know, after lunch? I said, lunch, not brunch... Yes, I promise, Okay?... Okay. Love you."

She hung up and regarded Ryan with a frustrated sigh, "My Dad, surprise, surprise. Hasn't quite worked out the concept of weekends yet."

"I'm sorry," said Ryan, accurately reading between the lines, "I didn't mean to give your Dad any more ammunition."

Kirsten paused in between sips of coffee. Unlike Seth's, Ryan's intuition was sometimes so spot on it was uncanny.

"Hell, that's okay," she said, not attempting to hide the fact that he'd correctly deduced the true topic of conversation, "Makes a change from him taking potshots at my marriage."

"And I thought my dad was charming," said Ryan as he went on a hunt for his sneakers.

"You ever go see him?" asked Kirsten leaping on Ryan's tidbit of information as casually as possible.

"Once or twice. Not for a long time. He's not what you'd call a great role model. Hence jail."

"Well, none of us can choose where we come from," she said trying not to sound too patronizing this early in the morning, "More's the pity," she added, as her phone began to ring once more and she switched it off.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" said Ryan, spying his shoes under the chair next Kirsten and retrieving them.

"It does indeed. And yet we still love them," Kirsten lamented with a half-smile.

"Guess so," he replied, sounding less assured than she did as he sat down on the bed and pulled on his sneakers. Tying his shoelaces one-handed with well-practiced efficiency, Ryan couldn't help but notice that Kirsten was twitching under the burden of having something potentially awkward to say and not knowing how to say it.

"What?" he asked finally, deciding to make it easy for her.

"You're very good at that," she said, again acknowledging his perception and loosening up a little.

"I know," Ryan responded amiably, wanting to get any further deep and meaningfuls out of the way before breakfast.

"I was thinking. About this afternoon," she said before faltering again.

"Yeah?" Ryan asked apprehensively, wondering where this was going and suspecting he wasn't going to like it.

"I just wanted to say, that it's still fine about you going and everything- "

"- Good," he interrupted bluntly, before apologizing, "Sorry."

"That's okay, uh..." Kirsten said, trying to regain her fragmented train of thought, "Good. I just wanted to say it's fine for you to go. And I think it would be good if you did. But I also think if you decide you don't want to, that's fine too." She looked over at Ryan, who was studying his coffee with unwarranted fascination. "I'm saying this wrong," she said with a sigh.

"No, you're not," said Ryan looking up at her, still not entirely sure which direction she was headed at the conversation from, "It's fine."

"What I'm trying to say, however inarticulately, is that if you want to go see Trey this afternoon, and next week and the week after, that's fine; if you want to go this afternoon and never again, that's okay too. And if you decide not to go at all, or you want one of us to go in your place we'll support you. Either way, it's entirely up to you."

Ryan blinked slowly, as he processed the offer and considered it. The fact that Kirsten hadn't offered up Ryan going to visit Trey alone as an option hadn't passed him by unnoticed. That slightly heated conversation had already come up a few days ago when Ryan had first voiced his wishes to go back and see his brother. In a rare display of diplomacy, Seth had slipped quietly out of the room as Ryan and Sandy's tone had become more abrupt until finally Sandy had pulled the parent card. Although he wasn't happy about it, Ryan begrudgingly knew that it was just the Cohen's way of looking out for him. Of course, that didn't mean he had to like it, but still, at least they were giving him some choice.

"Thanks," he said at length after deliberating them, "But I want to go. At least this afternoon."

"Okay then. And I know we decided that Sandy would go with you, but I'm free too, if you'd prefer. Or even Seth. Sandy'll get over it."

"Cool," said Ryan appreciatively, his thoughts drifting back to Kirsten's ill-fated visit to see him at the juvenile detention center, "But I think maybe Sandy should come this time. Jail suits him. Uh..." he said awkwardly, wincing at his turn of phrasing, "You know what I mean. Doesn't faze him."

"I know what you mean," Kirsten said kindly, "Whatever you want to do, it's okay with us. Come on. Let's get breakfast."

"Okay," Ryan agreed, getting to his feet and heading for the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" she said, with a mock stony glare.

"Right, sorry, " said Ryan sheepishly, retrieving his abandoned coffee mug from by his bed.

"I meant this, Ryan, as you should well know," said Kirsten with amusement as she retrieved his sling from under a cushion and held it out to him, "This house is not used to its kids tidying up after themselves."

Ryan scowled, "Do I have to? It's not like my arm even hurts anymore."

"Do you want me to answer that or shall I just glare?"

"Is that a quote from something?" Ryan suspiciously.

"Ryan," Kirsten admonished firmly, trading the sling for his empty mug, "Don't make me use my powers for evil."

"Okay, okay!" said Ryan sulkily accepting the sling and slipping his arm inside. Kirsten smiled as she opened the door and they both made their way across to the house.

"And before you ask, yes I slept well, and; no, the fact that I only want a bagel for breakfast has nothing to do with nerves or anything else."

"Taken your antibiotics?" she asked amiably as they entered the house.

"Crap," said Ryan doubling back to the pool house, Kirsten's good-natured laugh echoing softly behind him.

* * *

After lunch, Kirsten had finally surrendered to the cry Caleb's incessant phone calls and had headed into the Newport Group office for what she had assured the others would be, "a flying visit, ten minutes, tops." An hour and twenty minutes later, there was still no sign of her and Sandy was anxious to get going. He stuck his head into the den where Seth and Ryan were sitting on the floor engaged in their latest Sega obsession; death by Columns. He was almost to loath to break them up; the sight of Seth insisting on employing Ryan's one-hand-bracing-the-controller-against-the-knee-technique so as not to give himself an unfair advantage and yet still getting his ass kicked was incredibly endearing. Plus there was also the fact that Ryan's last trip to down to Chino had been an unmitigated disaster.

"Ryan, we need to think about heading out," he said, pushing his misgivings aside.

"Not now, Dad, I'm making a comeback," said Seth without looking up, as a cascade of jewels brought him back on to level pegging.

"Five minutes, Ryan?" asked Sandy rhetorically.

"It'll be over in two," said Ryan deadpanned antagonistically.

"Ho, ho! So confident! Even if I do this?" said Seth slipping into a frenzy of button pushing, before clumsily dropping the controller on the floor.

"Maybe one and a half," Ryan added, ignoring Seth's narrow glare.

"See you in a moment," Sandy said with a smile before departing.

Seth retrieved his controller and focused his attention to the competition as victory slipped ever further away from him.

"Hey man, is it just me, or is your screen filling up?" teased Ryan.

"Kiss it, Chino," said Seth, reverting to two-handed play as he frenetically tried to salvage the game.

"Say goodnight, Gracie," Ryan taunted as Seth's space finally ran out. Defeated, he threw down his controller in exaggerated frustration.

"You're irritatingly good at this, you do realize that?" he said, standing up and offering Ryan a hand.

"I know. Thanks," said Ryan, accepting Seth's help and getting to his feet.

"Re-match when you get back?"

"Sure," agreed Ryan, retrieving his sling from the floor and re-adjusting it round his shoulder.

"So..." said Seth, after a stilted moment of silence, "Tell Trey I said hi. If that's not too weird."

"It's not. I will. He liked Legion," he offered.

"You see, we're all connected by graphic artistry of comics, it's like it was meant to be," Seth bumbled, "I should definitely go with you next time. That is if you go. And if you don't, it's totally cool, 'cause I mean he's your brother and everything. Although he's also sort of technically legally mine too, which is strange because it was always just little old me rattling around here by myself and I always kind of wanted a brother and now I have two. Well, not exactly but-

"Seth," interrupted Ryan before his friend spiraled completely out of control.

"I'm doing it again, aren't I?" said Seth, grinding to a halt.

Ryan nodded, "Thanks for the offer, but trust me, it's better this way."

"Oh, okay," Seth replied, trying not to let his disappointment shine through.

"It's just... I've got a brother; I don't want or need another," Ryan said, instantly regretting his choice of words as Seth's face fell. "I didn't mean it like that..." he said, trying again, "Things between Trey and me are kind of twisted; I love him, you know but I kind of have to. Trust me, he can be a real asshole sometimes. Plus he's bigger than me."

"Hate to break it to you, Ry, but quite a few people are bigger than you," said Seth, softening a little as Ryan threw him his trademark sideways glance before looking down awkwardly and continuing.

"Trey's family, but so are my Mom and Dad and look how well that turned out. But you, you're like my best friend. And I never really had one of those before. I kind of like it, knowing that you've got my back; that it's a choice, not an obligation. It means something. You get it?"

"I do now," Seth replied, finally feeling comfortable with the Atwood-Cohen band of brothers situation, "And you know, ditto."

"You did not just say ditto," Ryan rebuked in mock disgust.

"So, good luck?" said Seth, shrugging it off and clasping hands with Ryan in the conventionally approved half-hug of teenaged guys.

"Thanks," said Ryan as he left, calling over his shoulder, "Keep practicing."

"You mock me with your words," Seth called after Ryan as he met up with Sandy in the hall and they headed out the front door, "But you will see. The underdog always comes back in the third act. It's classic cinematic narrative, Ryan... And I'm talking to myself."

* * *

By the time Sandy and Ryan had parked the car in the visitors' lot at the jail they had completely run out of things to say to one another. Except of course, for the obvious and Ryan had absolutely no intention of giving in first. Sandy knew that if he wanted to have the traditional last chance saloon talk, then he was going to have to be the one to broach the subject.

"So. Here we are," he started, cursing inwardly at his lack of tact and originality.

"Looks like," replied Ryan, not giving him anything to work with.

Sandy gave up. "Listen Ryan, you don't want to hear it and I don't want to say it, but

are you sure about this?"

"You're right, I don't want to hear it," said Ryan, taking Sandy aback with his rare display of direct animosity.

"Well, some things just have to be said anyway," Sandy declared, "And this is one of them. You are not your brother's keeper. You should not feel obligated. If you don't want to go see him, I will go explain."

"And say what?" Ryan snorted, scratching at his cast habitually.

"Whatever you want me to. Or if you don't know what to say, I'll wing it," said Sandy putting his hand on Ryan's to stop his scratching and gain his attention, "My point is, you shouldn't have to worry about this stuff, Ryan, you're just a kid."

"I think we both know that's not true," Ryan said levelly, startling Sandy once more with his directness.

"Perhaps not in the same sense as Seth is, maybe-"

"Look, I can't just forget where I came from, who I left behind," Ryan interrupted with irritation, his bitterness clear.

"I know that-" Sandy said, backing off in a futile attempt to pacify the rising anger of the Ryan-shaped time bomb sitting next to him.

"- Then stop acting like I can. You knew what you were getting when you signed up for this. You knew what I'd been through and who'd put me through it. Or didn't you read my file?" Ryan asked accusatorily, finally broaching the one unofficially taboo topic of conversation between them.

"You know I have," Sandy admitted, suddenly feeling awkward and ashamed of what it had told him about his foundling's past.

"Then you should get it. I don't just turn my back on the people I care about."

"Even when you should?"

"Especially then."

"Okay," Sandy shrugged, knowing when to cut his losses.

"Okay. Good," said Ryan, still keen with anger as he clumsily unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. Closing the door a good deal more forcefully than he needed to, Ryan regarded the jail's series of imposing barbed wire fences that centered around his older brother, before turning back to Sandy.

"You coming?"

Seeing Ryan kick at the dirt as he looked back at him, Sandy breathed a secret sigh of relief, "Yeah," he replied at length, "I'm coming."

* * *

After passing through the last in a seemingly endless line of security checks, Ryan and Sandy approached the final gate that led to the visitor's area on the roof.

"You ready for this?" asked Sandy, already knowing the answer.

"Are you?" Ryan shot back without a second's pause.

"Touché," conceded Sandy, as they walked through the gate. He watched as Ryan scanned the faces around him for his brother, his demeanor stiffening slightly as he locked eyes with a tall, serious looking young man sitting at a table in the corner. Trey's expression creased with guilt at the sight of his little brother and for a moment, Sandy wondered if Ryan was going to change his mind and back out of the visit.

"That him?" Sandy asked redundantly.

"Uh-huh," Ryan muttered in response, before walking towards Trey and leaving Sandy standing alone behind him. Approaching Trey, Ryan had never felt more homesick, not even in the long night in the hospital two weeks ago. Imperfect as it was, this was the one relationship in his life that required no second-guesses, no definitions and never would.

Without a word, Trey came over to meet him and enveloped him in a wholehearted bear hug that offered more comfort for Ryan's broken arm and expressed more gratitude for the reason for it than words alone could communicate.

"God, Ryan I am so sorry," he said, breathing him in.

"I know, " Ryan said, his voice muffled against his brother's shoulder, "It's okay."

Breaking the hug before they were asked to, Ryan and Trey retreated to the table and sat down.

"So, you bought you company again," Trey stated, nodding in the direction of Sandy as he made their way over to join them.

"Not by choice," Ryan said grumpily.

"Nah it's cool," said Trey, standing up and offering his hand to the older man, "Hey, you must be Sandy."

"Yeah," said Sandy, shaking his hand, a little surprised.

"Trey," Trey introduced himself, sitting down again. Sandy followed suit, focusing on the older youth's genuinely warm body language than the slightly unnerving hostility of his little brother's.

"So... thanks for letting Ryan come back down here," Trey offered, ignoring Ryan's sulky disposition, "I know I'm not exactly your favorite person right now."

"Well, you should meet my father-in-law," Sandy, hoping a little levity at the expense of one Ryan's lesser liked member's of the Newport community might loosen him up a little, but to no avail. Ryan snorted in response, returning once again to the mindless distraction picking at his cast. Never mind two weeks from now, at this rate his thumb was going to be free by next Tuesday.

"Hey Ryan," Trey said, putting his hand over his brother's to gain his attention, locking on to his eyes when Ryan looked up, "Why don't you let me and Mr. Cohen talk for a while?"

When Ryan didn't shift, he added, "Go on, we'll talk in a moment, okay?"

"Whatever," said Ryan petulantly, standing up and heading over towards the edge of the roof.

"You know, you're going to have to teach me how you do that," Sandy joked lightly to Trey, impressed by his ability to handle Ryan's non-verbal cocoon.

"Practice," Trey said lightly, "Or bribery. Used to- never mind..." He trailed off.

"What?" asked Sandy, his curiosity peaked.

Trey sighed quietly, "He used to stand as look out for me and 'Turo when we stole my Mom's liquor. Paid him in cigarettes. Yeah, I know," Trey added, seeing Sandy's look of disapproval, "Great role model, huh?"

"I've encountered worse," said Sandy, thinking of Dawn, "Believe me."

"You must hate me," said Trey, looking down, picking at his fingers just as Ryan had picked at his cast moments earlier.

"God no," Sandy replied truthfully, "I don't know if I can trust you, but no, Trey I don't hate you."

Trey looked up, touched by the honesty and sincerity of the words of a man he barely knew and to whom he owed so much.

"You can trust me. I swear. What I did, what Ryan did for me, I never should have asked him. I was just... I know I'm selfish. And I guess I thought Ryan would be able to figure something out, not have to go down there. He was always the smart one, you know?"

"He's a bright kid. Most of the time," Sandy acknowledged, beginning to get a picture of Trey, of what his life had been like. Any way you looked at it, it was sobering.

"He could be something, you know?" Trey said, his voice tinged with pride and regret, "He just needs convincing."

"We're working on it," Sandy replied. He followed Trey's gaze to where Ryan was standing looking out across the city, its landscape slipping away with the fading hazy sunlight. As if sensing their eyes focused on him, Ryan looked round, guiltily dropping his glance to the floor as their expressions met.

After a moment, Sandy reached into his pocket and handed Trey a business card, scribbling his home number on the back, just as he had on the sidewalk for Ryan all those months ago.

"Here's my card. There's my home, office and cell numbers on there. You need anything, legal, personal, whatever, call me."

"Really, it's okay," said Trey, not taking the card, "You don't have to do this."

"You really are Ryan's brother, aren't you? Just take it," Sandy said, trying again.

Reluctantly, and more than a little puzzled, Trey accepted the card, "Thanks," he said, regarding it.

"Honestly, I hope you never need to call. But if you do, just pick up the phone, and I'll help in any way I can. And if you want to see Ryan, that's great, I think you guys should stay in touch. But hear this," he said, his tone taking on sudden deadly sincerity, "If you ever, and I mean ever get Ryan involved in something like this again, I will personally make sure that you spend the rest of your sentence sharing a cell with a guy who lives on nothing but salami and boiled onions."

Trey smiled in spite of the threat, "I promise."

"I'm not kidding, I'll get it shipped in special. And you can kiss any chance of parole good bye," Sandy added, not liking his own words, but aware of the necessity of his message.

"You have my word," replied Trey with as much conviction as he could muster, "Never again."

"Good," said Sandy, finally running out of things to say, "Okay then."

"Can I ask you something?" inquired Trey suddenly, sensing their talk had drawn to a close. Sandy nodded.

"Why are you helping us? I mean, Ryan?" Trey asked uncertainly, "Trust me, nobody wants more for him than I do, but what you've done for him... it's not like he's even your kid or nothin'."

Sandy regarded the young man sitting across from him; saw his still desperate search to understand a generosity he'd forgotten the world was capable of. He looked over at Ryan again as if to refresh his memory, who, caught again stealing glances, instinctively sensed the truce that had occurred between the two men and acknowledged them both with a little wave. Sandy returned the gesture, before turning back to Trey and answering simply,

"Because he gave me and my wife back our son."

Trey remained silent, knowing that no response was expected and offering none. Sandy stood up and held out his hand.

"Take care of yourself Trey."

"Thanks," Trey replied, shaking it warmly, "For everything."

Sandy nodded and turned away, heading towards Ryan as he made his way back towards his brother.

"You're it," Sandy cracked, punching him lightly on the shoulder, "Take as long as you need."

"Thanks," said Ryan appreciatively, before adding in a slightly embarrassed tone, "And, you know, sorry. Again."

"Forget it. See you back at the car," he said, before heading over to the exit and leaving Ryan alone to regard his brother. Now that he really had the chance to talk to him, he had absolutely no idea what to say.

Sitting back down at the table once more, Ryan decided to get the unpleasant part of the conversation out of the way first.

"The car's delivered; the debts' paid," he said, relieved that things were finally over, "But I am never doing anything for you again. You understand?"

"I'm sorry, man," Trey said genuinely.

"I could have been arrested. He could have killed me."

"I know. And I also know that no one else would have done this for me. But I get it. We're done."

"Yeah, we are," said Ryan, his emotions conflicting, swerving more and more erratically between anger, remorse and regret with each passing second. Sensing his little brother's twisting bittersweet feelings, Trey stepped in, consciously lightening his tone, hoping Ryan's pervading mood would follow suit.

"Your cast is shiny," he said, placing his hand gently over Ryan's to stop him from picking at it again.

"I varnished it," Ryan said, taking his good hand from under Trey's and sitting on it in an attempt to curb his compulsion before continuing, "Seth's idea. Means I can shower. Kind of."

"That's cool. You know, I didn't want say anything at the time, but before, with your foot? You got a little ripe."

"Thanks bro, I appreciate that," said Ryan allowing a smile to escape from his lips.

Mission accomplished, Trey turned his attention to the messages and doodles that adorned almost every available inch of Ryan's cast. He couldn't believe how many different sets of handwriting had scrawled well wishes over the roughly textured surface. He was keenly aware that he didn't know any of the people that the messages belonged to. He wasn't part of Ryan's daily life anymore; it felt wrong and it hurt.

"What's with the nail polish?" he asked, pushing his feelings aside and turning Ryan's arm carefully to take a closer look, "Are these blobs supposed to be flowers? I thought you were into architecture, not agriculture."

"I was attacked by a ten year old," Ryan said, slipping his sling off and holding his arm out for Trey to study, "Babysitting Caitlin." Seeing Trey's eyebrows rise questioningly he elaborated, "Girlfriend's little sister. A monster in Mary-Janes."

"Babysitting huh?" Trey replied, Ryan's fashion reference passing him by, "You must really like her."

"Yeah. Probably be easier if I didn't. Her mother hates me."

"Not possible."

"No, I mean really hates me. Like the way Mr. Dalston hated us hates me," said Ryan referring to the Atwood's neighbor in Fresno, an odious man with no redeeming social qualities whatsoever and the hoarder of an indecent number of Trey and Ryan's stray baseballs.

"Wow," said Trey, feeling for his little brother, "You going to let it stop you?"

"Nope," said Ryan casually.

"Good for you," he said impressed, before teasing, "She's really hot."

"I know," Ryan smiled wryly, not rising to bait.

Spotting a small unadorned patch of orange down the back of Ryan's forearm, Trey picked up the half chewed pen that Sandy had absent-mindedly left lying on the table and started to write.

"So what happened to yellow?" he asked, as he concentrated hard on keeping his writing small and neat over the uneven surface of the cast.

"I thought orange. Orange County, you know," said Ryan, trying and failing to get a look at what his brother was writing, "It was meant to be a joke."

"Yeah, 'cause you've always been the funny one, Ry," cracked Trey.

"I was on morphine; everything's funny," said Ryan defensively before adding, "Seth thought it was funny. You'd like him. Talks a lot. Drives me crazy, but in a good way."

"I'd like to meet him, you know, someday," Trey said, giving Ryan his arm back,

"He said the same thing about you," Ryan said suddenly feeling oddly reluctant to talk about his semi-sibling with his biological brother. There was a distance between his family in Chino and his family in Newport that Ryan still didn't know how to reconcile. There was a choice to be made. All at once, Ryan knew that this was probably going to be the last time he and Trey spoke for a long while.

"You'll have to get him to tell you what this says," Trey said, tapping Ryan's cast with the pen before handing it back to him, "And will you thank him for the comic? It was a hit with the guys down my wing; we've got ourselves a whole bartering thing going on. Who knew so many geeks were in prison?"

Ryan nodded and coughed, cursing inwardly as he noted the slight whistle that accompanied it, hoping Trey hadn't noticed too. The last thing Ryan wanted was to provoke his older brother's protective instincts and then walk away from his life leaving him with nothing to protect.

"Hey, you wheezing again?" Trey said, immediately picking up on it, "You said what happened at the hospital was a one-off."

"It was," Ryan said, lightly brushing off his brother's concern, "I'm fine, Trey."

"You should be taking better care of yourself."

"I said I'm fine."

"Then why you doing your impression of Steamboat Willie?"

"Drop it, Trey," said Ryan, giving his brother a hard stare to back up his words. It would have been more convincing without the lingering musical accompaniment that followed. Unable and unwilling to conceal his concern, Trey tried again.

"Come on, squirt, why aren't you taking care of yourself?"

"Because a guy with a crowbar kicked my ass. And pretty much every other part of me."

Trey dropped his gaze and looked down, not wanting to offer hollow apologies for something that neither of them could change. Instead, Trey gave Ryan the time he needed, listening discreetly as his brother's breathing evened out once more. After a moment, Ryan spoke.

"Really, I'm fine," he said sincerely, "You don't have to worry about me anymore," he added, finally absolving Trey from the burden of care that he'd had to carry for too long. Trey looked down again briefly, knowing what Ryan was doing and appreciating it and hating it in equal measure.

"So... Sandy," he said to Ryan, "He seems to really care about you."

"Yeah. Yeah, he does," Ryan replied, taking the time to acknowledge his guardian's feelings towards him, even if they didn't still didn't quite make sense.

"How's about you let him?"

Ryan met his big brother's gaze, "Okay," he said.

"Okay."

Trey looked over towards the exit, as some of the other inmates' visitors began to drift towards it. Not wanting to end his time with Ryan on somebody else's terms, he stood up.

"You should go."

"Well, I'll c-come by to see you," Ryan stammered, his lack of conviction penetrating his tone.

"Don't," Trey said kindly yet firmly, "You've got a chance, little brother. You've gotta leave me behind. Leave all of this behind."

Ryan could only blink in acknowledgement, "Take care of yourself."

"Yeah," replied Trey, no longer wanting to delay the inevitable, "Well, you should jet. You've got people waiting for you," he said wishing he could be one of them. He pulled Ryan into another tight embrace, letting go whilst he thought he still could.

His words and his mettle exhausted, Ryan walked away from Trey, baseball, history, familiarity and comfort, and towards Sandy and the benevolent uncertainty that was his new life.

* * *

Back at the car, Sandy sat patiently as Ryan walked slowly across the lot towards him. Even from here, he could see a slight redness to the boy's eyes that echoed his downcast body language. As Ryan approached the car, Sandy leant over the passenger's side and opened the door for him. Wordlessly, Ryan slipped inside and pulled the door gently closed behind him, as if to apologize to the vehicle for slamming it earlier. The two of them sat quietly together, neither saying a word, the silence of the car permeated only by the faint whistling breaths that emanated quietly from Ryan. Understanding the youngster's need for space, Sandy suppressed every parental urge within him and said nothing as Ryan quietly calmed himself. Marveling yet again at Sandy's inherent ability to read him, without a word Ryan leant forward and retrieved his inhaler from the glove compartment, not caring one way or the other what it meant for his tough guy image as he used it.

"Better?" asked Sandy tactfully after a moment.

Ryan nodded, "Uh-huh."

"Okay. Put your seatbelt on," he said, pulling on his own and clicking it into place.

"Sandy?" asked Ryan, his voice slightly hesitant as he held up his left arm for him to read, "What does this say?"

Sandy looked at the neat flowing script that Trey had added to Ryan's cast and smiled.

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

Ryan joined him in smiling at Trey's choice of words, feeling for the first time in a long time that things were going to turn out all right. He reached behind him for his seatbelt, grateful for the assistance as Sandy stretched across to help him. The older man sat back in his seat momentarily before suddenly reaching a hand into Ryan's hair and ruffling it up affectionately.

"You need a hair cut," Sandy joked, "You look like a hobo."

"I know," Ryan replied amiably, ducking away with a warm half-smile. Scruffy hair and scruffy eyebrows regarded each other contentedly for a moment.

"Come on," said Sandy with a nod, "Let's go."

* * *

So, that's it. And if you made it here in one go I'll be, a) impressed and b) touched.

Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and pinata-ed, especially (in no particular order) **ctoan**, **muchtvs**, **miss suga**, **connell**, **famous99**, **Brandywine**, **Storymom**, **Teacher** **Tam**, **Queen of the Elven City**, **Elzed**, **parisindy** and **Joey**, all of whom took the time to review me time after time.

Special shout to all of the above TWoP-pers and the rest, who put up with Briticisms, nagging and overposting and still kept reading!

And yes, Kirsten is quoting at him. Now let's not always see the same hands...

_And an extra note, to those of you crazy enough to try the one handed shoe lace tying when you don't need to (you know who you are), the trick is to stand on lace whilst you pull it tight before making the loop. Then it's all down to tactical use of the fingers!_


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